


Snakes & Ladders

by mad_martha



Category: A Matter Of Life And Death, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama, HP: EWE, M/M, Romance, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rights of the uncommon man must always be respected." After the final battle with Voldemort, Harry intends to get on with his life. There's just one problem; he was supposed to have died when he confronted Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest and now the Other Side is trying to collect him. But in the space between his 'death' and the victory celebrations, Harry's fallen in love … and he's not going to give up his second chance without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakes & Ladders

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Harry/Ron Big Bang Ficathon 2010. Based on the 1946 Powell and Pressburger movie "A Matter Of Life And Death" with David Niven and Kim Hunter; and the stage play of the same name adapted from the film by Tom Morris and Emma Rice.

He had walked the quiet, still halls of Hogwarts at night many times before, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak, slipping around shafts of moonlight that poured through undraped windows and hiding behind statues and suits of armour when it seemed that some other restless soul patrolling the corridors might detect him. But never before had he been forced to pick his way over and around piles of rubble and broken glass, broken furniture and damaged artworks, jumping down a crushed stair here and over a gaping hole in the floorboards there.

The moving staircases were still as Harry Potter quietly approached them, tripping over a torn rug, his feet making tiny crunching sounds as he trod on the pulverised remains of a crystal ball. He had to walk down the steps very carefully, keeping to the middle, for a whole stone banister rail was missing on one side while the other was riddled with deep cracks. He reached the ground floor safely, though, and he struck out across the Great Hall for the rooms beyond the dais at the top of the Hall.

As he approached the side door, his feet slowed for the first time, becoming more hesitant, until he came to a complete halt on the threshold of the room beyond. An eerie blue glow of preservation charms covered the supine occupants of the room. They were covered, but only to their chins; they might have been sleeping, but he knew better.

If he hesitated, it wasn't fear that prompted him to do so. Death could no longer hold any fears for him; he had seen too much of it, had balanced too finely on the cusp of it himself, to be afraid of dead bodies. What he felt, rather, was a warning pang of grief behind his breastbone, an almost physical reminder that while the rest of the living within the castle had had a brief span of time to retrieve their fallen friends and relatives and come to terms with their loss, he hadn't. He had been given no opportunity to stop and fully realise that so many of his friends would not be at the breakfast table when morning broke the day after the battle. There would probably be faces here of people he didn't even know were dead yet.

But if they had died in any one person's cause, it had been his, and he owed them this - _his_ grief, _his_ recognition, _his_ personal gratitude and farewell. Only a coward would wait until the coffins were sealed and he could hide himself in the impersonal surroundings of a funeral.

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and folded it up tightly, pushing it into his pocket. His feet seemed to unglue themselves from the floor and he took a couple of uncertain steps towards the nearest bodies.

It wasn't right that Colin Creevey should look so young or so small, lying here on the bare stone floor. He'd taken his camera with him even into battle; someone had set it, the lens cracked across by a curse, on the edge of the sheet that covered him.

A Chinese girl lay alongside him. Harry knew her by sight but couldn't remember her name, and the next body was also of a wizard he'd never seen before, someone with a salt-and-pepper beard, who must have joined the stream of defenders who entered the castle through the Room of Requirement when Neville sent out his summons.

Then there was a young witch he didn't know personally but recognised from photographs in the _Daily Prophet_ ; one of Oliver Wood's Puddlemere United team-mates. There was an Auror, a much older witch, with her badge pinned respectfully to the edge of the sheet tucked around her … two boys, identical twins, as young as Colin and both Hufflepuffs from the colour of the school ties that showed just above the edge of their sheets ... a Ravenclaw girl Harry had once seen in the library with Cho Chang ... another too-youthful boy he knew to be a Gryffindor ... a startlingly beautiful older witch, her dark hair elaborately braided around her head ... and a gap between the human defenders where a double row of house-elves were laid out ... and a centaur ... Harry paused by each one briefly, then moved on.

And there they were at last, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks lying side by side. Harry crouched down at their feet, regarding his father's friend for a long moment. Somehow this was not as difficult as he had feared, however. Harry had, after all, seen Lupin in the forest and knew that he was content. It was not so easy to look at Tonks, but she had wanted to be where Remus was and now she would have her wish. Harry spared a thought for his godson Teddy, whom he hadn't even seen in the flesh yet, but there would be time to be there for him; who better, after all, they had this in common now.

After a while he stood up again and carried on down the row of bodies until he came to the last - perhaps the most difficult of all.

They had closed Fred's eyes, but Harry would not forget the wild laughter that had been in them when the fatal curse hit. Like Sirius going laughing to his death, daring it to take him … Harry found he had to sit down at Fred's side, cross-legged and weary. His face was smooth and untroubled; but they were all untroubled now, every one of these sleepers. No fear that any of these would baulk at that final journey and come back to haunt the school. Their courage in the face of death was proven.

"'Lo Fred," Harry said quietly. For a split second his lips framed the words _I'm sorry_ , but almost as quickly he realised he didn't want to say them. If anything could make Fred haunt him, he knew it would be that. The words would have to be said, and soon, but not to Fred; Harry would have to say them to his family and hope that they understood. So instead, and feeling just a little foolish, he said, "I suppose you'll know by now whether we wear wings or get a broomstick." The conversation with Dumbledore swam into his mind, and a tiny smile touched his lips. "I'll bet you were surprised to take a train from King's Cross, though."

He fidgeted with the edge of the sheet for a moment, not sure what he wanted to say or even really why he lingered. It didn't matter; he didn't believe that Fred heard him anyway.

"I should be there with you now," he said finally, "but I'm not and – and I'm not sorry about that. Do you understand? I was ready for it, I accepted it even, but then I was given another chance. One I wasn't expecting, and not just to be rid of Voldemort. And that changes everything. I didn't know how much it would change. You won't … I hope you won't hate me for that. I won't waste it, I promise."

Silence.

Harry wondered how much of that he'd been saying for his own benefit, just to hear it out loud and believe that it was true. All of it, perhaps.

Eventually realising that it was morbid to sit there among the dead, and thinking that someone might come looking for him if he lingered, Harry slowly got to his feet again. But he couldn't help taking one final glance back at Fred's body.

"We'll look after George, don't worry," he said quietly, and he turned away – only to discover that he wasn't alone.

Ginny was standing a few feet away, a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She gave him a tremulous smile.

"I thought I'd probably find you here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

This was not the place or time Harry would have chosen for a conversation with her, let alone the conversation he suspected they were about to have.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

She shrugged. "I'm not scared. They're dead, they can't hurt us."

"That's not what I meant." Harry glanced uneasily to one side; through another door, one that was barred and heavily warded, lay the bodies of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. "This isn't a good place to be, there could be lingering curses …"

"Then you shouldn't be here either."

"And I'm just leaving." He put a hand on her arm, as lightly as possible, and guided her to the door. "What did you come here for?"

"I couldn't sleep and then I saw the common room door open and close … it had to be you, and I guessed where you'd be going."

"You shouldn't have come," Harry said, feeling a weariness that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep.

"Yes I should."

There was no answer to that, but they were at the foot of the stairs before Ginny spoke again, and there was a hesitant note in her voice this time, as though she sensed something was not right.

"What will happen now?"

"We rebuild our world," Harry said, and he meant it quite sincerely. Everything would have to be rebuilt, from the fabric of Hogwarts to the structure of the wizarding world's government.

"I know that," Ginny said sharply, coming to a halt. "I meant …" She stopped.

"I know what you meant."

They stared at each other in the half-light, and Harry wondered if his face was as readable to her in that moment as hers was to him. He told himself angrily that he was a bastard to make her say it all, instead of doing the manly thing and helping her out, but he couldn't make himself take that leap. He couldn't make it easy for her anyway; not in the way that she wanted it to be easy.

Finally she said, "I thought … when this was all over …"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. _Stop it_ , he told himself, disgusted. _Just say it._

"I thought that was understood. I thought - "

"So did I," he said. He crossed his arms, then realised how hostile that must look and uncrossed them again. He didn't know what to do with his hands. Sticking them in his pockets would be no better. "Things were different then. I didn't …" He stopped. He didn't want to spell that out, because it would make him sound like an even bigger bastard.

"Was it true, what you said to Fred?" she asked him then. "That you expected to die too?"

Harry ducked his head uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"Was that true all along? Were you always expecting to die?" Now there was a harder note in her voice.

"No, not always. Not until he – Voldemort I mean – came to Hogwarts. I didn't know then …" Harry stopped again, wishing he hadn't said that.

"You knew you were going to die?"

"I knew I _had_ to die then," he corrected her.

"But you didn't die, Harry. That changes everything, I heard you say so."

"Yes." Harry made himself meet her eyes. "It changes _everything_."

"Why?"

He stared at her, at a loss. "I can't answer that. I don't know _why_ , I just know that it does. I can't explain it."

"Try!"

"Ginny …"

"It doesn't have to change _us!_ " The words came out as though abruptly wrenched from her.

"Yes, it does." Harry's heart ached for her, for guilt at the distress he was causing her, but he had no choice. "Ginny, nothing's the same now. I can't – I mean, it's almost like I'm a different person. Something happened to me in the forest, I can't explain it to you, but I came back and … it was like the world had unfolded. Like a chess board, only all the pieces had changed position and changed the way they moved. I'm … I'm on a different square now, moving in a different way. And we're at opposite ends of the board."

Dawn was beginning to break and the hallway was growing lighter. Ginny shook her head and Harry could see the paleness of her face and the rim of tears threatening in her eyes.

"I haven't changed," she pleaded, almost a whisper again. "I'm still in the same place, on the same square!"

"But I'm not."

"You could make it the same if you wanted to, Harry."

Harry thought of a chess game, the game Ron had taught him when they first started at Hogwarts. He shook his head. "It doesn't work like that."

"So was it always a lie?" she flung at him, and the tears were beginning to escape despite a bitter, desperate edge to her voice.

Harry shook his head, certain of that. "No, I've never lied to you. I'd never do that! Why do you think I'm saying this now? I won't lie to you, that would make things a hundred times worse!"

Her face twisted up. "I don't understand you!"

"I'm not sure I understand myself anymore."

"Harry …" She held out her hand, but he didn't try to touch it. _"Take my hand!"_ she begged, an echo of another time.

"I can't," he told her helplessly. "Don't you understand? I won't do that to you! It wouldn't be right."

 _"Right?"_ For a moment she stared at him, incredulous and bitter. Then she turned ran up the stairs, leaving Harry staring at the spot where she had been standing only moments before.

"It wouldn't be right …"

~~~

There was a clock hanging over the reception desk, the biggest clock Fred had ever seen, but for all that it still had two hands like any other clock and a circular face. There was no dial and the hands turned in opposition to each other, and there was no indication of what it checked off as those hands ticked around. It was shades of grey and plain white, like everything else here, and altogether it was a curious object to be such a focal point of this place.

Below it was a long bar-like desk with an ink-pot, quill and immense ledger in the centre. Periodically people would arrive through a portal somewhere off to Fred's left (fewer now than there had been a while ago, although he wouldn't have wanted to quantify 'a while' in this place), and they would approach the desk and ring the bell that hung above and to one side of the ledger. Then the Recorder, or one of her assistants, would come to attend to them, directing them to sign the ledger, before issuing them with a magic carpet and directing them to another portal.

Fred had opted not to sign up and collect his carpet; not just yet. He was waiting for someone, and when Remus Lupin and Tonks had arrived – and indeed Colin Creevey and Dobby – they had found him there, propped defiantly on the edge of a low wall that overlooked a vast records storage area below, arguing amiably with the Recorder. They were waiting with him now, to the Recorder's mild exasperation. She reminded Fred a little of a statue of Nimuë that guarded Professor McGonagall's private study at Hogwarts; very serene and commanding, but with the potential for something more alarming underneath.

"They could do with some magazines or something here," Lupin remarked placidly. "It's a bit of a dull wait otherwise."

He and Tonks were mostly watching the activity in the records room far below them and talking quietly between themselves. Dobby, on the other hand, had found an unobtrusive spot to sit in and patiently wait; initially he'd looked around for something to dust, but there was nothing like that in this place.

"I s'pose they don't want us hanging around too long," Colin replied. He took a sip from his crisp white china teacup and added, "Good of them to lay on the tea service though."

The Recorder was watching them again. Fred gave her his most charming debonair-wizard-about-town smile, and settled himself comfortably against the wall again. He had good view of the entrance from there and he had no intention of moving until Harry finally arrived.

Really, he was almost overdue … if such a thing was possible.

~~~

"So what happened with Ginny?"

With Hogwarts in near-total disarray, normal meals were impossible; the house-elves promised to ensure a proper dinner in the evenings, but for the rest of the day you ate makeshift snacks wherever you could find a place to sit. Harry and Ron had found a stone seat set into a corridor wall which was still intact and were eating their picnic lunch there.

Harry looked up from his meal and stared at Ron warily for a moment. "What do you mean? I haven't seen her all day."

"Well you won't, will you, mate?" Ron told him. "She went home with Mum this morning. 'Cept obviously you didn't notice, so what's that about?"

His tone seemed quite reasonable, but Harry didn't relax his guard. He wasn't expecting Ron to like what he had to say, but irrational mixed-up reactions to his best friend's relationship with his sister were all appropriate responses on the part of a loyal brother (and had nothing to do with his own relationship with her, of course). Harry accepted this, but that didn't make him relish this conversation any more. Especially in the light of one of his most recent personal revelations.

"We talked," he said.

Ron raised a brow at him. "When?"

"This morning. Early."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And she's gone home with Mum." Ron took a bite of a sandwich and chewed, seeming to contemplate the deeper mystical meanings in the crumb of the bread for a moment or two. Eventually he said, "From the look on her face, I reckon that wasn't the "let's get married and spend the rest of our lives together" talk, then."

"Not really," Harry admitted. He wondered if the rest of this conversation was likely to involve shouting. He wasn't really ready for that - and besides, he didn't think parts of the castle would survive the reverberations.

"Right. Are you planning to reverse that again any time soon?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well … one minute you're snogging my sister. Then Dumbledore dies and you say it's all off because you have to take off after the horcruxes. Fair enough. But then you snog her again at Bill's wedding and _then_ we all took off after the horcruxes – "

"Technically she snogged me," Harry interrupted, feeling that his honour was being impugned here.

Ron gave him a fishy-eyed look. "Splitting it a bit fine, don't you think?" he said dryly.

"Yeah … all right, point taken. There was snogging and I was a participant."

"And now we're all back here, and His Nibs is dead, and you decide to celebrate by telling Gin it's all off again."

"I'm not celebrating, Ron," Harry said, rather grimly.

"No, actually I believe that part."

Harry looked at him, surprised, and saw the wry look on his friend's face. "Really?"

"Really." Ron sighed. "So what I want to know is – is this a temporary thing, or is it really all off this time?"

"It's really all off this time." Harry put his plate to one side with a sigh, and leaned back against the wall. "Look – I'm sorry, mate, I know she's your sister, but – "

"You don't have to apologise to me. Mum, maybe, but not me." Ron put his own plate on the floor at his feet and leaned his head back against the wall, his hands dangling loosely on his lap. He gave Harry a sideways look and there was something in his eyes that Harry couldn't quite decipher. "It's not like I don't know exactly how you feel right now."

Harry really, really doubted that; but that was a conversation he wasn't at all sure he would ever have with Ron. Then he blinked, registering what Ron had actually said. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean you haven't noticed the distinct lack of Hermione?"

Harry blinked at him, perplexed. "She's with McGonagall, drawing up repair plans."

"Excuses, excuses." But Ron was looking sad and rather guilty.

"Ron?" Harry stared at him in disbelief. "But you were snogging, and right in the middle of a bloody battle too!"

"Yeah, well, you know what life-or-death situations can do for a bloke," Ron said uncomfortably.

"No, I don't!"

Ron's brow furrowed. "What, you mean they don't turn you on?"

Considering the life-or-death situations he'd been in over the years, Harry thought he could be pardoned for not finding them an erotic experience. Apparently he was alone in that.

"So it was just sex?" he said, appalled and fascinated in equal measure.

Ron's ears began to turn pink. "Well, I wouldn't call it _sex_ exactly. It turned out it was just, well, a moment, if you get my drift. It didn't really work out when we tried it again later."

"Okay, I don't want to know any more," Harry said quickly, making a face. "So you've split up?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Permanently?"

"I thought you didn't want to know any more?" Ron said. He gave Harry a weak grin as he said it, but his discomfort was obvious.

Harry couldn't help feeling sympathetic. "That bad, eh?"

"You have no idea."

"Blimey."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. A flock of domesticated brooms whisked past them, closely followed by a cluster of dustpans, sent onto the next cleaning job by someone; and a suit of armour, minus a 'leg', shuffled and scraped its way down the corridor, supported by a mop handle. Someone out of their sight let out an excited cry of _It's all right! His head's under the cabinet now!_

Eventually Harry said, "I suppose this makes us both free men. What do you reckon we should do about it?"

"Renounce women and embark on a noble quest?" Ron suggested half-heartedly.

"But we've done both of those," Harry pointed out.

For a moment their eyes met, and Harry felt a most extraordinary _frisson_ run through him at the expression on Ron's face. It was gone again in a flash, making him wonder if he'd really seen it.

Surely not; he had to be imagining that … _heat_ … in his friend's eyes. He knew what he felt for Ron, but it was too much to expect Ron to feel the same way about him.

Wasn't it?

~~~

"This won't do, Mr. Weasley." The Recorder's voice was serene and untroubled as she approached them. "You and your friends can't wait here for eternity. Your friend clearly isn't coming."

"There has to have been some kind of mistake," Fred said, not moving from the spot he'd been standing in for ... well, some considerable time now, if time was the right word.

She gave him a tolerant little smile. "Mistakes don't happen here."

"But you checked his invoice yourself," Lupin pointed out, strolling up to stand next to Fred.

"Which is against the rules," she noted, and he gave her a smile which made it perfectly clear how he had once become involved in making a certain map of Hogwarts.

"Ah, rules! Rules are made to be broken."

"Not in this place." The Recorder considered Lupin for a moment. "Besides, Mr. Lupin, you were with Mr. Potter at his assigned moment. How do _you_ explain his absence?"

Lupin's smile slipped. "Not at the actual moment. We only walked with him to the spot, he had to take the final step alone."

The others had joined them now, standing in a loose half circle around the Recorder.

"So what happens if he doesn't turn up at the appointed time?" Tonks asked.

"Nothing like that has happened in a thousand years," the Recorder said.

"So it _has_ happened before," Lupin said.

"Once, to the Recorder before me. She was here for over six hundred years." The Recorder hesitated, then stepped over to the low wall and looked down to the records section far below them. The others followed suit, Fred half in curiosity and half in ... some other emotion. Far below, many workers bustled about while great racks of files moved slowly around them on continuously circulating conveyor belts.

"These are just the records of the living," the Recorder told them. "Everyone on earth has a file - human and non-human, wizard and Muggle. And when the numbers don't add up all the alarm bells start ringing the Records Office."

Fred stared down at those files; hundreds and thousands and millions of files, stretching off into the distance. Somewhere down there was George's file, containing his 'invoice', his allotted tariff of years.

"If anyone had told me the clerks and archivists are working away up here, just like on earth ..." Tonks said, her eyes wide, but Dobby let out a deep sigh.

"Dobby is thinking this is heaven," he said reverently.

The Recorder smiled gently. "You see?" she said to the others. "Everyone here is allowed to start where they like ... and some people think it would be heavenly to be a clerk." She stepped back. "I really can't allow you all to wait any longer. Please come and sign in and collect your carpets."

"I'd rather have a broomstick," Fred said, but he sighed and led the way to the desk.

"That's your choice," the Recorder told him, and when he looked behind the desk there were long racks containing flying carpets, brooms ... even pairs of big, feathery white wings. One of the Recorder's assistants selected a very swish-looking broom and brought it to the desk.

"No chance of a two-seater carpet, I suppose?" Lupin asked and Tonks laughed, thumping his arm gently.

"No flying motorbikes either!"

"I imagine if there was one, it's already been claimed by someone else," Lupin said, and a smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes at the idea.

The Recorder held out the quill to Fred. "Please sign. You'll put the balance out in Accounts if you don't hurry."

Dobby had already made his mark in the ledger and was receiving an elf-sized pair of wings.

"Come on, Fred, we don't want to start the alarms ringing," Colin said, patting his shoulder

As though his words had triggered something, the hands on the great clock above the reception desk both struck the point that would usually be twelve, and a sound like the biggest bell in all creation rang out, shaking the foundations of the world around them. It was swiftly followed by other bells and alarms, a multitude of them, great and small.

Fred looked at the Recorder, his brows raised. "So mistakes don't happen here?" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the bells.

~~~

Fred had thought before that there was something more than efficiency beneath the Recorder's serene demeanour, and it showed as she briskly showed them all into her office (which was filled with shelf upon shelf of scrolls and ledgers, all neatly organised and labelled). One of her assistants brought in a ledger and two sheets of parchment, and the Recorder took a seat at her desk and at once began to compare the three.

"Number of deaths ..." she murmured, running a slender finger down a page in the ledger. "Hm ... number of receipts ... yes, we are one death short." She studied the parchments. "Potter, Harry James, age seventeen years and ten months, according to his invoice. And this is his notice of overdue account."

She looked up and Fred was intrigued at the way her eyes almost skewered her assistant. "Who was due to collect him? Summon his conductor at once."

He arrived, appropriately enough, in the twinkle of an eye.

"This explains a lot," Lupin remarked as Albus Dumbledore stepped into the office.

Dumbledore beamed at him. "My dear boy! Miss Tonks – Mr. Weasley – Mr. Creevey - Dobby - how very good to see you all again."

The Recorder did not look amused. "Albus Dumbledore, I believe?"

He gave her a respectful little half-bow. "Madam Recorder."

"You were assigned to collect Harry Potter – at your own request, I see. How did you fail to present him at the appointed time? All the circumstances should have rendered his departure a mere formality."

Dumbledore was apologetic. "Forgive me: I suspect that in all the excitement – you heard about our little contretemps on Earth with a certain Dark Wizard? Well, I suspect that amidst all of that hullabaloo the actual, ah, _collection_ part of my assignment may have slipped my mind."

"The main, the _only_ purpose of your assignment slipped your mind." The Recorder's tone of voice suggested that she strongly doubted Dumbledore possessed such a commodity.

He looked innocently surprised. "Surely it was not such a dreadful mistake to have made? Indeed, I should think it's hardly the first time Harry Potter has missed his – ah – his appointment? After all, you know, he _is_ known as the Boy Who Lived."

"Past tense!" she said, and there was a distinct snap in her voice now. "Mr. Potter is now overdue by almost twenty-four hours. You will proceed to earth at once and complete your mission."

"Oh dear. That may be problematic."

Fred had to admire Dumbledore. Messing with this lady took some serious balls. He couldn't help wondering if she had been an ancestor of Professor McGonagall in a previous life … or, now that he came to think of it, Madam Pince. Yeah, that would fit.

"Problematic?" the Recorder repeated icily. Clearly such a word had no place in her well-ordered office.

Dumbledore smiled at her kindly. "I can see that you've never encountered him, and that explains a great deal. We are talking about _Harry Potter_."

She was unimpressed. "And?"

"Forgive me, dear lady, but I find it unlikely that Harry of all men would waste his time tasting the wine and smelling the flowers, as it were. Twenty-four hours in the hands of a young man of his vital energies … I should think he might achieve a very great deal. Wouldn't you say?" he asked, appealing to the others.

"I'd have to agree with you, Professor." There was a decided note of amusement in Lupin's voice.

Fred now knew what was going on here and the old reckless feeling of mischief to be done suddenly surged up. Harry, overdue by twenty-four hours? Did that constitute a possible second chance for him? He didn't know what Dumbledore had in mind but if there were official noses to be put out of joint, Fred was in on it, whatever it was.

"Twenty-four hours? Harry?" He snorted cheerfully. "You'll never catch him!"

" _Catching him_ is not the issue, Mr. Weasley," the Recorder said grimly.

Her assistant was trying to draw her attention to Harry's overdue account. "There's an addendum, Madam Recorder. It appears that Mr. Potter has …"

"Well?"

"It appears he has fallen in love, Madam," the assistant said apologetically.

"Atta boy, Harry!" Tonks said with a grin.

"I thought his relationship with Ginny was over?" Lupin said to Fred.

"So did I."

"This appears to be with someone else," the assistant told them, _sotto voce_.

"Quick work," Colin approved.

"I cannot help but feel this changes matters somewhat," Dumbledore said to the Recorder. "However, if you would like me to make the attempt at retrieving him – "

"You've already done enough, thank you!" the Recorder said, and there was a real bite in her voice. "I believe we will employ someone else on this mission." She turned to her assistant. "Find another conductor – one who _won't_ be swayed by misplaced sympathy for the deceased!"

Unabashed by this, Dumbledore rummaged in the pocket of his robe and fished out a paper packet. "Peppermint gobstopper, anyone?" he offered, blue eyes twinkling.

~~~

"It took a thousand years to make Hogwarts what it is," Harry said glumly, staring at the ravaged profile of the castle from the far side of the lake, "and a day to blast it to smithereens. We're never going to be able to fix all that damage."

"Yeah, we will." Ron was surprisingly nonchalant about the damage. "If it was built, we can replace it. It's just going to take a while."

"It's probably going to take years."

"Okay, maybe it will. I don't know why you have to be pessimistic about it though. It's not like we're expecting to fix everything in a week."

"But it's really daunting. I had this idea that getting rid of Voldemort would be the end and then we could get on with our lives. Nobody ever mentioned the part where we'd have to put everything back together."

Ron gave him a look that clearly said he thought Harry was mad. "We _are_ getting on with our lives, mate. And in case you hadn't noticed, you're actually, you know, _alive_. Which is a bonus, right?"

Harry looked at him and reluctantly grinned. "Right."

"Hmph." But Ron was amused. "I knew getting you out of the castle for an hour was the right thing to do. You need to get your mind off thinking you have to fix everything for everyone. It's not your job. You've done your bit and offed You-Know-Who already. They'll all have to work the rest out for themselves." He threw himself down on the ground under a tree and looked around, satisfied. "Nice evening."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. "Yeah, great. So what are _you_ planning to do, now we're not on the run?"

"Cripes, I don't know." Ron rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "I s'pose getting my NEWTs would be something, but I've got used to not being at school. It all seems so …" he made an expansive gesture with his hands, " _small_ by comparison, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Still, we've got to do something with our lives."

"Well, what are you planning to do?"

Harry snorted. "You don't honestly think I have a clue, do you?"

Ron chuckled. "Good! I reckon I'd have to kill you if you suddenly came out with a complete career plan, like Hermione …" His voice trailed off and the humour faded from his face.

"Has she spoken to you since … well, you know, since?" Harry asked him warily. He was only too aware of an ignoble hope that she hadn't. He didn't want Hermione to be miserable and he didn't want the friendships between the three of them to be damaged, but his own secret interest in Ron added an extra layer of awkwardness to everything.

"Yeah … well, I mean, she's said hello and what not." Ron tugged at a bit of rough grass, his eyes not quite meeting Harry's. "We're not, you know, not speaking. It's just a bit …"

"Difficult?"

"Yeah." Ron shot him a quick sideways look. "Are you sure you're not going to get back together with Ginny?"

"Positive." This popped out rather too quickly, and Harry grimaced. "Sorry, that's a bit cold and I didn't mean it like that. It's just – I know it's not going to happen. I'm – I'm different now. No, that's not right - I think maybe I was always different but it wasn't until I faced Voldemort that I realised it."

There was an odd look in Ron's eyes. "Different how?"

It was a curious thing. Harry in no way felt ready for this conversation with Ron, but he also knew that he didn't want to wait to have it. One lesson he had learned all too well over the past couple of years was that life was unpredictable and often only too short; waiting to say the important things was asking for a heaped serving of bitter regrets. Maybe it had been those horrible moments after seeing Snape's memories in the Pensieve that had brought this lesson home to him, the realisation that his death was suddenly imminent and there was no more time left to say what he was really feeling to the people dearest to him, but there would be no more put-offs in his life and there was probably never going to be a better time than this.

"Different in that what I thought I wanted – what I thought I _needed_ – wasn't what I needed at all," he said.

Ron nodded solemnly. "That's what I thought. And anytime you feel like explaining it to me, feel free."

Harry tried to laugh, but he was too nervous for it to sound convincing. "Yeah, right. I suppose I could be a bit clearer."

"Just a bit," Ron said dryly. "So you're saying you don't need Ginny. I think I already got that."

"No – what I'm saying is that Ginny was a substitute for what I really wanted. I just didn't want to admit what I really wanted, even to myself."

Ron flopped back on the grass. "That's great, Harry. You take your time and translate that into nice, clear English, and while you're doing that I'll take a nap, okay?"

"You are not helping," Harry told him, amused in spite of his nerves. Ron's only response was to close his eyes and snore in a very fake way. "Cheers, mate!" Harry dithered for a moment, but there was nothing else for it. "Look, Ron … what I'm trying to say is – Ginny was a substitute for _you_. I wanted – I _want_ – you. Do you understand? I …" He stopped. Took a deep breath. "I love you."

Silence. Harry had somehow expected more than that – at the very least a startled look, some expression of surprise or shock, or even a punch to the jaw. Not for Ron to lie there with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach, apparently oblivious to his friend's declaration.

"Ron?"

"Oh, how very touching," a familiar, sneering voice said.

Harry whipped around, his eyes wide. No, it wasn't possible, it couldn't be –

Apparently it could. Professor Severus Snape was leaning against the trunk of the tree behind them, his arms casually folded and his eyes mocking.

~~~

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded and at once felt like an idiot. Although it was hardly an unreasonable question, under the circumstances.

"I asked myself the very same thing," Snape said acidly. "The answer, of course, is that once again I'm finishing Albus Dumbledore's work for him and correcting your mistakes. Why the powers that be have seen fit to saddle _me_ with such a burden to eternity and beyond is past my small powers of comprehension, but saddled I have been and I shall take any attitudinal behaviour on _your_ part very poorly, I warn you."

"When haven't you?" Harry retorted, but he was bewildered by this. "Sorry if I'm being tactless and pointing out the bloody obvious, but aren't you dead? I mean, I saw you die, and I've seen enough people do that now to know what it looks like."

"I'd award a point for basic observation, Potter, but since you're not going to be around to enjoy the benefits of it, it seems rather _pointless_ , if you'll pardon the pun. Not," Snape added sourly, "that I give a damn whether you pardon it or not. Now get up. You have a prior engagement and I refuse to be held responsible for a second cock-up."

"This has to be an hallucination," Harry said to the general air. "I'm not really seeing Professor Snape - it's just all got a bit much and my mind's taken a break - "

"For that to happen, you'd have to have a mind," Snape snapped, losing patience.

"Since you're not really here, you can fuck off - _Professor!_ " Harry snapped back. He grabbed Ron's arm and gave him a shake. "Ron - RON! Come on, mate, don't mess around! I need you - I'm seeing things and this is really not funny ..."

Ron didn't move. His eyes were closed and he looked for all the world as though he was fast asleep, or ...

Harry couldn't see him breathing. No ...

 _"RON!"_

He shook him and shook him, and patted his face, shouting his name frantically, but Ron didn't move an eyelash.

Snape watched this performance with sardonic amusement for several moments, before eventually tiring of it. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, he's not dead."

"You can shut up! And fuck off - you're not real! Ron!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "He's _asleep_ , you fool."

"He's not breathing!"

"Actually, he is. He's just breathing too slowly for you to see it." Snape pushed himself away from the tree and strolled over, arms still folded across his chest. "We are caught, as it were, between one breath and the next. For you, time has stopped. He won't see or hear any of this because for him it isn't happening."

Harry jumped to his feet, rounding on him. "You bastard! What kind of sick joke is this?"

"One that has only the most fleeting amusement value," Snape said. "You are overdue, Potter. Time to leave. If you have something important you want to say to Weasley, you should have said it five minutes ago. Or preferably twenty-four hours ago, but regrettably you can't be held responsible for that particular _debacle_."

"You're not making any sense!"

"You - are - dead," Snape enunciated, as though humouring a simpleton. "You died twenty-four hours ago, at the wand of the Dark Lord. Your assigned guide, acting under a degree of entirely misplaced sentimentality, failed to escort you onwards, which has resulted in you receiving a brief and unearned reprieve, but even you, Potter, cannot expect the Universe to permit the situation to continue indefinitely. You are overdue and I have been sent to ensure there are no mistakes this time. Now come along!"

For a split second Harry stared at him, stunned. Then:

"No."

"What?"

"No," Harry said, more forcefully this time. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and you can't make me."

"Based upon what evidence?" Snape demanded.

"Based on the fact that you haven't actually taken me anywhere yet," Harry said, and although he wasn't any too sure of that when he said it, the taken-aback look on Snape's face gave him more confidence. "You can't make me, can you? Otherwise you wouldn't have bothered trying to bully me into it, you'd have just taken me."

He smirked a little and Snape's eyes narrowed. "Not that I really believe you're here at all," Harry added for good measure, although privately he was beginning to wonder.

"Of course," Snape said softly. "How could I be so foolish? I keep forgetting that the great Harry Potter, the Chosen One, must necessarily be exempt from the rules that govern the rest of humanity!"

Harry flushed. "Don't be a bigger arse than you already are," he said angrily. "I'm not asking for special treatment - "

"Of course you're not! You just want to cheat death! Now where did I last hear _that_ , I wonder?"

"You git, don't you dare compare me to him! I'm not asking to live forever, I just want to live a normal lifespan!"

"Define 'normal'," Snape invited him, his lip curling. "Are you still labouring under the delusion the Universe is fair, Potter? I would have thought that you of all people would know by now that life is manifestly _un_ fair in almost every respect. It isn't given to everyone to live out five score years and ten, as all too many of your little friends at Hogwarts have discovered!"

"If I was supposed to die, what was the grand plan for offing Voldemort, then?" Harry demanded. "If I'd died when you say I should have, he'd have overrun the school and that would have been it for wizard Britain!"

"Still puffing yourself up, Potter? If you'd died at the appointed time, he would still have been left a mortal man, your so-called 'sacrifice' would still have protected your deluded little followers and undoubtedly someone else would have got lucky and put an end to him." Snape sniffed disdainfully. "Perhaps Longbottom would finally have overcome a lifetime of mediocrity to carry out the deed."

"That would have worked for me," Harry said, fighting to keep his voice steady under this merciless assault. "I'd be happy for Neville to get the credit he deserves at last. But that doesn't change the fact that I did live, I did kill Voldemort, and dammit, the Universe owes me! I didn't ask to be given this second chance, but I _have_ been given it and I'm damned if I'll give it up now just because of - of someone else's bureaucratic cock-up! _If_ that's really what this is, and you haven't convinced me yet!"

"You were in a railway station, I believe," Snape said coolly. "King's Cross, quite possibly. When the train arrived you and your guide were supposed to board it together. I'm sure your feeble brain can remember that, Potter - regrettably, one doesn't forget meeting Albus Dumbledore under any circumstances, let alone almost a year after his own demise!"

"There wasn't a train," Harry said, white faced and shaking now. "We sat in the station and talked, and then he - he told me I had a choice. I could board the train and carry on, or I could go back and do my best to take Voldemort out for good. I chose to go back and I woke up in the Forest, where Voldemort had cursed me."

"As I already said," Snape sneered, "misplaced sentimentality on his part. He was detailed to collect you; there was no 'choice' involved."

"Then why am I still here!" Harry shouted.

"Because Dumbledore broke the rules - "

"And how is that _my_ problem? Dumbledore screwed with the rules, but anyone could have told them there was a good chance he'd do something like that, so whose bright idea was it to send him to collect me in the first place? Punish them for being stupid, but not me! Like it or not, they gave me a second chance and now it's too late - whatever was supposed to be has already changed - "

"Still flattering yourself, I see!" Snape interrupted. "What wondrous changes have you wrought, Potter, that will make such a great difference to history?"

"I don't know, do I?" Harry shot back. "Nor do you! Nor does anyone - well, except maybe Professor Trelawney, but I wouldn't want to bet on that. Maybe it doesn't matter to history at all! But it matters to me, Snape, and it'll matter to Ron ... I reckon."

"Of course, I was forgetting Weasley here." Snape strolled around to peer down at Ron's recumbent form interestedly. "I have to say, Potter, he's embarking on this exciting new chapter in his existence with remarkable _sangfroid_. I wonder how many men would take a romantic declaration from the Chosen One lying down?"

"You can fuck off," Harry told him, annoyed. "You're not exactly a love god yourself!"

"Don't be a bigger fool than you already are," Snape told him, his lip curling. "Weasley will never know about your uninspiring little declaration. In all probability he'll patch up his connection with Granger and settle down at some unspecified future date to breed red-headed little know-it-alls, one of whom will, if he's really unfortunate, be named after _you_." He paused for a split second and the smirk took on a nasty edge. "You're quite superfluous to requirements, you know. Do you _really_ want to be reduced to being the third wheel in their relationship, invited to dinner every other Sunday because they don't know how best to be rid of you?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think that must have happened to you some time for you to be so bitter about it," Harry told him. "You don't know a single thing about Ron, and you don't know what he would have said to me because you haven't given him a chance, have you? Maybe he'll surprise you!"

"It's a moot point, Potter; he won't have the opportunity!"

"Screw you and screw that load of shit! Why should a cock-up on the other side change his life as well? Maybe my time _is_ up, but Ron's isn't and you have no right to make him pay the price too!" Harry's voice wobbled slightly. "I love him and I'm not ashamed to say it. For all you know, he might love me too. If I'd died when you said I should have maybe it wouldn't have mattered, but I didn't die and we've both made choices based on that. Whatever happens, his future is already altered and you'll screw things up even more if you just ... take me. I mean, what are you going to do? Have me drop dead beside him, or do I just vanish with no explanation?"

"Love!" Snape sneered, disregarding the rest of Harry's speech. "What do you know about love, Potter? You're seventeen - nothing but a spotty cretin in thrall to his gonads! I have no doubt at all that you're in _lust_ with this - this juvenile Quidditch thug, but you were equally hormonal over the pneumatic bosom he calls his sister only a few months ago! At your age any warm body will do - it's a fleeting set of urges, over almost as soon as they've begun. Love has nothing to do with it."

Harry stared at him incredulously. " _This_ from you of all people! Have you forgotten that I've seen your memories, Snape? Or is this the truth and Voldemort was right - you had nothing but a creepy obsession with my mother?"

Snape, already bleached-looking and monochromic in his black robes, turned an icy white with rage. It seemed to take a great effort for him to part his lips, but he hissed, "How dare you - !"

"She was my _mother_ ," Harry said coldly. "I saw everything - I know that you were obsessed with her almost all your life. Maybe you did love her, but not everyone would believe that, even seeing what I saw in your memories. Love can look a lot like lust from the outside, you know."

For a long moment it seemed like the issue hung in the balance, but somehow - somehow - Snape got himself back under control.

"This is pointless," he said grimly. "There is no more time, Potter, there are no more arguments. The Law is the Law; it governs everything and it must be obeyed, even by you."

The pause had given Harry time to think, though. "If that's the law," he said, "then I demand an appeal."

"An appeal," Snape repeated, thrown off balance once more.

"That's right."

"An appeal against _what?_ "

"Against the decision to deprive me of the life I've been given through no fault of my own. I want to appeal against the decision to take away my second chance."

"Impossible!"

"Really?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I think we've already established that you can't just drag me away if I refuse to go. So what are you going to do? Go back empty handed? At least this way you have a chance to get your way eventually. I refuse to accept this arbitrary decision - I'm at least owed the courtesy of a proper hearing."

He thought that the long and embittered silence that greeted this spoke volumes.

"Why," Snape asked finally, in a tone of great long-suffering, "must it always be that I am dragged into the vortex of ignorance, incompetence and sheer bloody arrogance of your measly existence, Potter?"

"S'pose you must just be lucky that way," Harry said. He made an effort not to smirk, although he was sorely tempted.

The look Snape gave him should have poisoned him on the spot. "Very well!" he snapped. "I'll convey your _demand_ to the powers that be. Don't make the mistake of thinking this is the end of the matter, though. You may get a reprieve - you may even get your appeal - but I promise you, the Universe will have its way in the end."

"I can live with that, so long as I get a fair hearing," Harry said.

" _Living_ with it is unlikely!" And just like that, Snape was gone.

"Be seeing you," Harry said to the empty air.

"What?"

He looked around sharply; Ron was peering up at him with a single open blue eye.

"Ron!" He fell to his knees beside him, and Ron dragged himself up on one elbow.

"What were you saying, mate?"

The relief was immense at seeing him awake and himself, but Harry at once began to wonder if he'd just hallucinated the whole episode. "You didn't see him?"

Ron was bewildered. "See who? I only closed my eyes for a sec!"

"It was Snape," Harry told him, and the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth. "It was Snape, he was here and I mean I know he's dead but he didn't deny that, and he said I had to go with him because I was supposed to die when I faced Voldemort - "

Ron's eyes grew wide with bewilderment and alarm. "Harry mate - what are you talking about? I've been right here all along, there's been no one else, and anyway - he's dead, you know he's dead! We were there, we saw it happen. His ..." He stopped and swallowed. "I helped bring his body back from the Shack."

Harry's own mouth grew dry, for he'd seen Ron and Kingsley Shacklebolt bringing Snape's shrouded body into the castle that morning. "I know that."

"Then what are you going on about?"

"Ron … I know it sounds mad, but he was here." Harry didn't know how to explain himself to his friend. "I was – I was talking to you, when suddenly he was there – " He waved his hand at the tree. "He was leaning on the tree and talking like a complete git, like he always does, and everything else had sort of … stopped." Remembered panic surged up in his chest. "You weren't breathing – I thought you were dead! But he said we were just … how did he put it? 'Caught between one breath and the next'! "

"Do what?" Ron managed, floundering. "Harry – "

"Do you think I'd make up something like that?" Harry demanded.

"Well no, but – mate, listen to yourself! You're just telling me something about Ginny, when you suddenly go nuts and say you've had a conversation with a dead man. You've got to see that's mad!"

"It's worse than mad!" Harry cried. "Ron, he told me I should be dead too! Voldemort was supposed to kill me in the forest!"

"But he didn't." Ron was growing worried now, disturbed by Harry's extreme agitation. "You told us all about it – the curse only killed that bit of his soul that was in you."

"But I didn't tell you about Dumbledore," Harry said, and he felt himself go cold. He'd deliberately withheld that part of the story, feeling that it was too bizarre to expect them to believe, especially when he wasn't entirely sure himself that it had happened.

"Dumbledore?" Now Ron was hopelessly confused.

"He was … I saw him. When the curse hit me there was this space of time – I don't know how long – when I was in this other place. It looked like King's Cross Station. And Dumbledore was there and we talked. He told me a bunch of stuff about him and his family, and about Grindelwald and the Deathly Hallows." There was a headache beginning, Harry realised, a sense of nagging and uncomfortable pressure behind his eyes. "He told me I had a choice. I could get on a train and … move on. Or I could come back and try to finish Voldemort off for good." He rubbed his brows with his fingers for a moment, and gave Ron a painful smile. "I thought about it – letting go and dying, I mean. It would have been really easy. But I wanted to see it through and make he was gone, and besides – I couldn't leave you all like that."

Ron pulled himself into a proper sitting position, crossed-legged in front of Harry, looking thoughtful and worried. "Was it the same both times?" he asked at length.

The pressure from the headache was making it hard to think. "Yes … and no. I mean, they were both dead but talking to me like they were alive somehow. And I was in a completely different place when I saw Dumbledore, but Snape was right here with us. But – yes, that was the same! It was like time just stopped …" Harry paused; the breeze coming off the lake was ruffling his hair and reminding him of something else that had been odd about Snape's 'visit'. "Not just time," he said. "Everything stopped – you weren't breathing, there was no wind and no noise – "

He stopped with a sharp gasp and clutched at his head. "Shit … hurts …"

"Harry?" Ron's voice was painfully sharp with alarm. "Mate, are you all right?"

"My head!"

And Harry toppled over into Ron's lap, unconscious.

~~~

"Is he going to be all right?" Neville asked, staring down the length of the bed where Harry lay sleeping. An empty potion-stained glass stood on the bedside cabinet.

"Madam Pomfrey says there's nothing wrong with him that she can find, except that he's exhausted and … overwrought," Hermione replied.

Her tone was more tentative than any of her listeners liked to hear, and Ron was not the only one who shifted restlessly at her words.

"What does she mean by 'overwrought'?" Dean asked.

"Stressed," Hermione said. She looked wry. "Except that the wizard word for stress isn't "stress". Apparently healers call it things like "nervous over-excitement". "Overwrought" is just another word that means stressed, as far as I can tell."

"He's been running around the country trying to find a way to off Voldemort for almost a year," Seamus said irritably. "Living in a tent for half of it, getting attacked by Death Eaters … Of course he's bloody overwrought! Who wouldn't be?"

"He wasn't the only one," Ron said. His eyes met Hermione's for a brief moment. "We were out there with him."

"Yeah well, no offence Weasley, but you and Granger aren't the Chosen One," Seamus retorted.

Neville's head came up, his expression indignant, and Dean muttered, "Hey, mate, that's a bit out of order."

But for once Ron didn't react to the comment. He was staring at Harry, brooding. "Not what I meant," he said after a moment, and his eyes returned to Hermione's face.

She returned the look, equally troubled. She knew what Ron meant; they had been out there with Harry and endured terrible things too, but neither of them had collapsed with a chronic headache and neither of them was hallucinating Snape or Dumbledore. Seamus, Dean and Neville didn't know about the hallucinations though. Madam Pomfrey had warned them to keep that part of it to themselves lest it reach the wrong ears. People didn't need to know that their hero was "overwrought" and seeing things.

"I think we should leave him to rest," she said quietly.

"How long will that potion keep him knocked out?" Dean asked.

"Madam Pomfrey said he _should_ sleep for at least five hours."

They all looked at each other, then Neville said, "I'll take first watch."

"I'll take over in an hour," Dean added, and Seamus nodded. "I'll take the watch after that then."

"Thanks," Ron said. "I'll take over after you. Hermione?"

"That gives me time to look up _nervous over-excitement_ in the library before my watch," she said, and they all rolled their eyes. She huffed a little. "Is there something wrong with wanting to know what we're dealing with? Neville, one of us will bring you a cup of tea in a minute. Ron - a word please."

"That a euphemism for anything?" Seamus asked, with a weak attempt at his usual leer. His sense of humour had taken a battering in the past year.

"Yeah," Ron said baldly, "it's a euphemism for wanting to talk." He followed Hermione out of the room.

The sixth year boys' dormitory on the floor below was empty; Hermione pushed Ron into it and closed the door behind them, flicking a silencing spell at it.

"Someone's going to need to pack up stuff for people like Colin Creevey," Ron commented, staring around at the four beds. Only three of them had curtains and bedding on them; the fourth had clearly never been made up at the beginning of term, but Colin himself had been Muggleborn and consequently hadn't returned to Hogwarts at the beginning of the school year.

"The Headmistress has that all arranged," Hermione replied. "Ron, we need to talk about Harry."

"You don't really reckon it's over-excitement or any of that crap, do you?" he said abruptly.

"It's one possible explanation," she replied.

"Come off it, Hermione! I know this year's been rough, but Harry's like one of my Aunt Mildred's rock-cakes - it'll take more than facing off against Voldemort for like the millionth time for him to even break a sweat."

"I agree," Hermione said, making him blink. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't believe Harry's imaginative enough for the kind of symptoms he's having. He's more likely to try and avoid people and withdraw into himself. This is …" She made a face. "Well, this is too hysterical for Harry. And there's the sudden headache and him passing out, which doesn't fit with stress. Madam Pomfrey's overstretched at the moment, Ron, or I think she would have made more of that."

"Reckon he's been cursed?"

"That's possible too," she said. "I can't think of a curse that has this effect, but it's still possible."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked.

"I don't particularly want to go back and question Madam Pomfrey's judgement."

"Nah, me neither. But I don't want to get anyone else involved, either." He saw her expression. "Pomfrey's right - can you imagine what'll happen if it gets out that Harry's had a funny turn? He's everyone's hero at the moment, but you know what it's been like in the past - one minute everyone's sympathetic and the next they're talking about him like he's a nutter. He doesn't need people getting the idea that offing You-Know-Who has done something to his mind."

"Well, I was going to research this anyway," she offered. "Let's start there."

"All right."

Neither of them moved.

"How are you? Hermione asked him after a moment.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, on his guard a little. He hadn't forgotten their last private conversation; he thought he wouldn't forget that until the day he died.

"I saw your face when you brought him back to the castle." Her tone was unexpectedly gentle. "Did you think he was dying?"

"What would you think if he was fine one minute, then raving and collapsing the next?" Ron rubbed his face. "I panicked. He's come through so much, and then suddenly … yeah. I thought he was dead for a minute, especially since he'd just told me Snape had been there telling him that he _should_ have died. I thought maybe he'd talked himself into it. Wizards can sometimes talk themselves to death, did you know that? They convince themselves they should be dead and it actually happens."

"You told me that once before," Hermione said, smiling slightly at his startled look. "Your Uncle Bilius, remember? He thought he saw the Grim and died."

Ron huffed a laugh, but said defiantly, "Maybe he really _did_ see the Grim!"

"I doubt it. And I honestly doubt Harry's that kind of wizard, don't you? I don't believe he knows how to give up."

"True," Ron admitted.

"What were the pair of you doing out there anyway?" she asked.

Ron shrugged, although his ears began to turn pink with discomfort. "He said he wanted to see the damage to the castle from the other side of the lake." He saw her eyebrows lift and his ears turned even redder. "It wasn't such a stupid idea! Besides, I thought he needed to get out for a while. He's acting like fixing everything is his responsibility."

"So it was really your idea, not his."

Ron sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. There had been an element to his break-up with Hermione that he hadn't yet had the courage to tell Harry about; in fact, his original plan had been to never talk about it at all. But that had been before he discovered that Harry and Ginny had split up, for reasons which he was sure Harry had been trying to tell him just before he had his funny turn.

Hermione was not about to let it go. "Have you told him yet?"

"No, don't be stupid."

"It's not stupid, it's the logical, sensible, _obvious_ thing to do. Which is probably why you haven't done it," she added in an irritable mutter.

"I haven't done it because there's a million ways it could go wrong," Ron retorted.

"Did we really break up just so that you could waste the opportunity?" she demanded.

"No, we broke up because staying together was pointless. You said that yourself. Besides, there wasn't an opportunity – he was still with Ginny then."

"Well, he's not with Ginny now. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not waiting for anything!"

"Because you're not going to tell him, are you?"

"Probably not, no."

Hermione let out a little disgusted sound. "I suppose I'll have to speak to him about it then."

"What? No!" Ron was horrified. "Hermione, how can this be what he wants? He likes girls – "

"Sure of that, are you? Because I thought the same thing about you, and look how that turned out!"

"I _do_ like girls," Ron protested. "I just – "

"- don't like girls, yes, I noticed that, it was remarkably obvious." Hermione's tone was dryly humorous, if a little strained underneath. "Or at least, you only seem to like them when there are psychopaths running loose nearby. How very flattering."

"Why do you have to make it sound like I'm a complete bastard?" Ron demanded. "No, don't answer that."

"I'll acquit you of being a bastard to me, as long as you don't behave like a bastard to Harry as well," Hermione said, and he was surprised by the slight smile on her face. "I won't forgive you for that, because he doesn't deserve it."

"Yeah, well I don't think there's much to worry about there," he said gloomily.

"I think you're wrong, but either way he deserves your honesty. At least give him the chance to turn you down, instead of making the decision for him."

"Easy for _you_ to say," Ron grumbled.

"I'm going to the library," she told him. "If I'm going to look into possible curses, I need to make up a book list."

"Of course you do."

She rolled her eyes, then her expression became more serious. "Ron, it's just a thought, but – if this happens again, Harry hallucinating I mean, try not to argue with him, all right? It might _not_ be a curse at all; Madam Pomfrey could be right and it could just be a delayed reaction to everything that's happened to him. But either way, there's nothing to be gained by arguing with him about it, and you might even make things worse by upsetting him more. I think we're better off listening to him and trying to work out what's happening from there. Do you understand?"

Ron thought about Harry's behaviour by the lake, in the moments before he collapsed. "Yeah, I think so. The more I told him he was imagining it, the worse he got."

"Exactly. Let's just try to keep him calm." She put her hand on the latch of the door, then paused. She raised an eyebrow at him. "And keep a close eye on him."

"Not a problem," Ron said wryly.

~~~

By the following morning Harry was fine again, and feeling rather foolish about the amount of attention his 'episode' had attracted. It didn't help that he was still absolutely convinced that he hadn't hallucinated it all; why he didn't know, but for him the incident was impossible to rationalise or dismiss. This inevitably led to a background sense of slight but impossible-to-ignore panic, as though he was on a deadline for something immense and there was nothing he could do about it. Fortunately - because excessive attention and disbelief would have made it much worse - nobody made much of a fuss. He was conscious that his friends were unobtrusively shadowing him for much of the day as he went about the castle helping with repairs, but as Ron rightly pointed out, that much he would just have to endure after suffering a collapse.

And Ron stuck to his side like a burr all day. Harry suspected that he ought to protest this, but he enjoyed having Ron to himself too much to make an issue of it. By mid afternoon they were in the Great Hall, helping to repair tables, windows and benches, when Hermione finally joined them. Harry hadn't liked to ask where she was, suspecting there was still tension between her and Ron, so it was a surprise to discover that they seemed to be on quite good terms. They all chatted in a reassuringly friendly way as they worked, and it was only when they stopped for a cup of tea that the conversation took a turn he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"Ron told me you saw Professor Snape yesterday," Hermione said quietly, as they stood together off to one side. Around them, many of their friends chatted as they took a break; there was a pleasant hum of noise covering their own conversation.

Harry twitched in spite of himself and gave his friend a rather accusing look, which Ron returned without much sign of guilt. "Yeah," he replied finally. "I know that sounds nuts, but ... he was there. As real as you are now."

She nodded, much to his surprise. "If you say he was there, I believe you."

"Right." Harry shot another sharp look at Ron. "Did he tell you about Dumbledore as well?"

"He did mention that."

"That sounds nuts too. I even asked Dumbledore if it was really happening or just inside my head, you know?"

"What did he say?" she asked, interested.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Typical Dumbledore answer. He said that just because it was happening inside my head didn't mean it wasn't real."

Hermione looked amused. "Yes ... I can see how that would be annoying. In fact, that's a really clever answer. Just what I'd expect of Dumbledore."

Harry relaxed a little. "You don't believe me though." He framed it as a statement, but couldn't help looking at her a little hopefully.

"I believe that you saw them," she replied.

"Really?"

"Well, you're not in the habit of imagining things or lying to us, are you?" she replied reasonably.

"That's true." Harry took a sip of his tea, wondering if she meant what she was saying. "But maybe you think it was something else that made me see them?"

"That's always a possibility too, but I can't really tell without information. Tell me a bit more about it."

"Like what?"

"Well, you told Ron that everything stopped when you saw Professor Snape. What about noises?"

Harry thought about this. "It was dead quiet," he admitted. "Not even a breeze or any bird noises. But he told me everything had _literally_ stopped."

"'Caught between one breath and the next'," Ron put in quietly. "That's what you told me he said."

"Was it cold?" Hermione asked, before Harry could reply to this.

"It was a breezy sort of day," Ron said. "Always is on that side of the lake, though. It comes in off the water."

"There was no breeze or anything," Harry said, after a moment. "Actually, it was ... comfortable, almost warm."

Hermione nodded encouragingly. "And what about smells?"

Harry blinked. "Yes! It was ... well, it was Snape, and he always had a sort of herbal smell about him, didn't he?"

"Is that what you could smell?"

"Yes he ..." Harry stopped, looking startled. "No! It was ... mandrake blossoms. You know that weird, sickly sweet smell they have if they're allowed to flower? I could smell that. It wasn't strong, but it was there."

"How about colours?" Hermione prompted him.

"Colours?"

"Well, was everything brightly coloured and clear, like it is here now? What colour was the water in the lake?"

Silence. Ron's eyes widened at Harry's expression, but Hermione shot him a warning look.

"I couldn't see the lake," Harry said finally.

"Why not?" she asked softly.

"I don't know. But it was just me, Ron, Snape ... and the bit of ground we were standing on and the tree."

"What colour was Ron's jumper?"

"Blue," he said automatically. That was the colour of the jumper Ron was wearing now.

"I wasn't wearing this one yesterday," Ron reminded him, concerned.

"No - no, of course not. You had that checked shirt on, didn't you?"

"When Snape was there, what colour were the checks?" Hermione asked.

The look Harry gave her bordered on angry. "The same colour they were before he turned up!"

"Are you sure?" She grimaced at his expression. "Harry, it's just a question! Don't eat me!"

"Fine! I don't remember any colours!"

"Everything was black and white?"

"Yeah - no - I don't know. There just weren't any colours." Harry hunched his shoulders, looking angry and defensive. "Now tell me I was imagining it all! Or dreaming or something."

"I won't tell you any such thing." One of the house-elves approached pushing a tea-urn on a little trolley, and Hermione refilled all their cups from it. When the elf was gone again, she gave Harry a half-smile. "All right, I'll stop tormenting you! I'm just interested, that's all."

The look Harry gave her then was half-defensive, half-apologetic. "All right." He fiddled with his mug for a moment, then sighed and said, "You might as well know that I told him I want to appeal. Snape, I mean."

"Appeal?" Ron looked between the two of them, bewildered.

"Against them taking me," Harry said, staring into his mug.

"That sounds sensible," Hermione said calmly.

"Really?"

"Of course. It can't hurt, can it?"

"I s'pose not." But Harry began to look more cheerful at this endorsement.

Ron was less impressed and told Hermione so as soon as they had a moment alone together in one of the corridors outside the Great Hall.

"This is mad!" he protested. "I get that we shouldn't argue with him, but telling him this stuff is a good idea is going a bit far!"

"No it's not," Hermione said flatly.

"But - "

"I don't believe he really saw Snape, Ron, but I _do_ believe it's more than just hallucinations. I think ..." Hermione took a deep breath as if to steady herself. "I think it's a curse. I don't know how it happened and I don't know why Madam Pomfrey's examination didn't pick it up, but whatever it is, it's nasty. Well, you said it yourself - wizards can convince themselves that they should die and then they do. This doesn't have to kill him directly - all it has to do is convince him that he _should_ die, and he'll do the rest."

"Merlin!" Ron rumpled his hair wildly in his agitation. "What do we do?"

"We keep him calm, we encourage him to fight it - by this appeal he's talking about - and we find out what it is," Hermione said. "I'm going to have a word with Professor McGonagall. We need to contact your brother Bill."

"Cursebreaker - right. I'll do that."

"No you won't. You stick to Harry like glue, Ron; don't you dare let him out of your sight! Keep him positive, encourage him to fight his corner if Snape turns up again."

Ron's eyes nearly started out of his head. "Snape? You don't really think he's going to turn up again, do you?"

"Yes, I do." Hermione saw his expression. "He said he would, Ron, and if this is a curse that's interfering with Harry's rational mind, then he'll return because Harry will make it happen. He can't _help_ but make it happen. So be ready for it."

"Great! And what about this appeal? What if he loses it?"

Her eyes turned fierce. "That's not going to happen because we're not going to let it happen, are we?"

"Okay, okay!" Ron grimaced, then shrugged a little as though mentally accepting the situation. "And what are you going to do?"

Hermione sighed. "Speak to the Headmistress, talk to your brother - if she lets me put a Floo-call through - and do some more research!"

~~~

After dinner, the three of them went to the library together. Some of Madam Pince's bigger volumes had been damaged, not just in the battle but over the many previous months following the Death Eater occupation of the school. Harry and Ron sat at one of the long tables set before the windows with a pile of enormous encyclopaedias and set about sorting a similar pile of loose and ripped pages and returning them to their parent volumes. Meanwhile Hermione was doing something in Madam Pince's card catalogue, with that formidable lady's assistance.

Harry didn't ask what they were doing, although he would have preferred that Madam Pince didn't keep shooting beady little looks at him now and again. He suspected that she'd heard about his 'episode' the day before; all sorts of people were giving him anxious and considering looks on that account when they thought he wasn't looking. Mending the encyclopaedias was tedious work, but he could do it sitting down and could quietly nurse the slight headache that he wasn't telling anyone about. He suspected Ron wasn't entirely fooled, but he wasn't nagging him about it and that was good enough for Harry. The last of the day's sunlight was streaming through the windows and warming his seat ... Ron's voice was a soothing background murmur … it was very comfortable and his eyelids began to droop ...

"Typical," Snape said in a disgusted tone. "Your friends do all of the work while you take a nap! How utterly like you, Potter."

Harry sat up with a jerk and looked around. Snape was perched primly on the edge of the window seat a few feet away; Harry looked around and saw Ron still sitting, apparently oblivious, on the other side of the table. He jumped up and ran around to him.

"Ron! Ron, he's here again!"

Ron didn't move. He was completely still, his blue eyes focussed on the book in front of him; one hand resting on the crease between two pages, holding them together, while his other hand was suspended a few inches above the book, his wand halfway through the curving movement of the Fixing Charm they were using to replace the loose pages. A puff of dust had arisen from the ancient bindings of the book and hung in a tiny translucent cloud above it.

Harry's breath caught in his chest. Ignoring Snape's snort of contemptuous amusement, he ran to Madam Pince's desk.

"Hermione! Madam Pince!"

But they too were frozen in motion, Hermione with a handful of index cards in one hand and a quill in another - she was making a note of something - and Madam Pince was half-bent to catch a card that was suspended in mid-air as it fell.

Everything was bleached out and sepia-toned, as though the fading daylight had dragged all the colours out of the world with it. There was an eerie stillness and silence in the room, and Harry was conscious once again of a sweet mandrake smell, not strong but nevertheless teasing the edge of his nostrils.

Trembling a little inside, he slowly turned and walked back to where Snape waited. "How do you do that?" he demanded.

"Time has no real meaning on the other side," Snape replied coolly. "Time in _this_ world is tracked by certain departments, of course, for the purposes of the records, but there is no _then_ or _soon_ or _later_ \- everything is now, if you will. I have merely removed you from time's stream for a brief period."

"Nice trick!"

Snape's lip curled. "There is no trick, you fool. It simply _is_."

"Great. So, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

The long-suffering look returned. "Am I to assume from your lapse in memory that you no longer wish for your 'appeal', Potter? If so, I would appreciate you saying so and we'll leave at once so that I may be rid of this tedious duty!"

Harry took an involuntary step forward, a spark of hope rising. "I can appeal?"

"Regrettably, it seems that the powers that be feel you have earned the right to make your case. Why they have chosen to give _you_ of all people such an unheard-of opportunity I cannot imagine, especially when it will undoubtedly be squandered on emotional outbursts and rank illogic, but apparently it is not for me to question this."

He looked so sour that Harry had no difficulty imagining that he'd protested the whole idea of the appeal and been put in his place by some higher authority. The idea would have been amusing under most other circumstances, but he had more important things on his mind.

"What do I have to do?" he demanded.

"Don't be so hasty, Potter," Snape said sharply, seeing his expression. "An appeal will be pointless unless you have suitable counsel to represent your interests and defend you. Believe me, the Universal Court is no place to attempt to conduct your own defence. Your status as The Boy Who Lived will carry no weight in such company."

There was an odd note in his voice as he said this, and Harry studied him curiously. "Is that what happened to you?" he asked, with the shrewdness that had come to the fore during the past year.

"We are not talking about me." And Snape continued before Harry could pursue the question. "You need to select someone suitable, someone with his wits about him, who can summon sufficient rational arguments to outweigh the arguments presented by the prosecution. Do not underestimate the prosecution, Potter. They have universal law on their side. Your allotted tariff of years ended with your confrontation with the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest and you are now in breach of that law, whether by your own design or not. You will have to summon powerful arguments indeed to overcome millennia of precedent."

This was daunting. "How do I find someone to defend me? Who can I choose?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "At a loss - the Chosen One?"

"I've never had to something like this before!" Harry retorted, stung. "You always expect me to know how to do stuff without any kind of explanation! Like Occlumency - "

"I fail to see how I am responsible for your inability to absorb basic information!" Snape interrupted.

"I absorb information okay!" Harry snapped, his voice rising. "The problem is when I'm not given any information to absorb!"

"You're a moron, just like your imbecile father - "

"Dad wasn't an imbecile, though, was he? I bet that really pissed you off, him and Sirius always being at the top of the class!"

Snape let out a disgusted sigh. "If all you intend to do is moan about irrelevances, Potter, I'll go. Your appeal will be held two days hence; you had better be prepared."

He stood up, clearly intending to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm angrily. "Hey, you can't just bugger off like that! How the hell am I supposed to find someone to defend me? Who even qualifies for the job? A lawyer? I don't know any!"

"There are no lawyers in the Universal Court," Snape said curtly. "Choose whomsoever you please; anyone at all, living or dead. All are equal in the eyes of the Court and may stand up in their own defence or the defence of another. But as I have already said, Potter, choose wisely!" A cunning gleam entered his eyes. "I have been instructed to render you all assistance if you require it. I could help you in making this choice."

Harry gave him a rather jaundiced look. "Thanks, but I've had a lot of experience of your kind of _help_. I'll pass." His conscience gave a little twinge as he said it, though, for there was no denying that Snape had, in fact, helped quite a lot during Harry's life even if his methods were hard to swallow.

Snape sniffed disdainfully and pulled his robes around him. "Very well. If you change your mind, do let me know …"

And he was gone before Harry could ask him how he was supposed to summon him in that unlikely event.

~~~

Harry found himself back in his seat at the table, surrounded by loose pages, and Ron was just finishing the sweeping curve of the charm.

"This is going to take forever," he was saying, even as Harry started violently, staring around him with wide eyes. Ron blinked at him. "Are you all right, mate?"

"No!" Harry could still smell the lingering scent of mandrake blossom and hear Snape's parting words echoing in his ears. "He was here again!"

"Who?" Ron's eyes widened. "Snape?"

"Yeah, he – he said my appeal is the day after tomorrow and I have to find someone to defend me!" Harry's breathing quickened with agitation and he could feel a familiar pressure building up behind his eyes. "Ron, I don't know who to ask! How can anyone get me out of this? But he says I can't do it on my own and I believe him, I mean I saw Dumbledore and I know I could have died, and sometimes I think maybe I should have – "

"Harry … Harry!" Ron hurried around the table to him. "Mate, you've got to stop thinking like that right now, all right? You're not dead and there's no reason why you should have died, because you're here and obviously that means you were meant to live! Besides, you can't leave me – us – now! We need you here!"

Harry was clutching painfully at his arm. "But what if I _was_ supposed to die in the Forest?"

"Don't be daft!" Ron was pale under his freckles. "If you'd died, we'd all be dead! You-Know-Who would have overrun the school and probably killed most of us."

"Snape says not. He says Voldemort was mortal then – well he was, mostly – and anyone could have finished the job. Even Neville, _probably_ Neville!"

"But you were the true master of the Elder Wand." Ron jumped at Hermione's voice; she had come up behind him so quietly that neither of them had heard her. She walked around Ron and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, the expression on her face utterly certain. "You killed Voldemort because you controlled the Elder Wand, Harry, don't forget that. Neville couldn't have done it."

Harry sagged in his chair with a groan and put his head in his hands. It was throbbing fit to burst. "I don't know. Maybe."

 _"Definitely,"_ she said firmly. "How long was he here for this time, Harry?"

"No time at all. He stopped time again – no, he said he removed me from time. It felt like maybe ten minutes at most."

"And was it the same? Silent, colourless, with a smell of mandrake flowers?"

He nodded. It was almost too much effort to do anything else.

"Are you feeling all right, mate?" Ron asked him, worried.

"No." The headache made him feel queasy. "My head hurts."

"We need to take you back to Madam Pomfrey then," Hermione said grimly.

~~~

"Tell me you've got some idea of what's doing this," Ron said, when Harry was settled back in his bed again, with a dose of Dreamless Sleep for company. "Tell me you and Bill can fix it." He stared down at his friend, arms folded across his chest, his expression grimly brooding.

"I haven't even spoken to Bill yet," Hermione replied, frustrated. "He's been busy helping to sort things out at Gringotts and I had to leave messages with Fleur … who's angry enough already at the way things are taking up his time, without me adding to the situation. I really hope she's passing the messages on, or I'll have to contact Kingsley Shacklebolt instead, and I should think he's even busier than Bill."

"He won't mind, not for Harry."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he'll be able to just drop everything and come here. And really, what are we supposed to tell him? I can't say for certain that it's a curse because I haven't found a single reference to a curse like this one yet. All it'll take is Madam Pomfrey repeating her diagnosis of him being overwrought and Kingsley will probably _have_ to give it lower priority."

"He'd come," Ron insisted, not taking his eyes off his friend.

"Maybe. Just let me continue my research a little longer and see if Bill comes through. Please."

"He's on a deadline, didn't you hear him? This 'appeal' happens the day after tomorrow, and he has to have someone to defend him."

Hermione sighed. "Then help him think of someone, Ron. Play for time!"

"Like _who?_ " he demanded angrily.

"Anyone!" she snapped back. "Start making lists – anything to keep his mind occupied and positive!"

"I could tell him I'll do it."

Hermione felt a stab of alarm at this. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because the curse could expand to drag you in." She saw his incredulous expression. "Ron, some curses work because the victim is willing to let them work on some level. Like the Imperius Curse! Agreeing to take an active part in the delusions it's creating could be enough for it to attack you too. And don't look at me like that – we don't know enough about it to be sure, so you can't afford to take the risk. The last thing I need is for the pair of you to be driven into a mutual suicide pact by it!"

"Never happen," Ron asserted, but she could see he was shaken by the suggestion. Ron was more imaginative than most people gave him credit for.

"Then don't give it an opportunity!"

"Merlin …" He rubbed his face, looking tired and frightened all of a sudden. "So what do we do next? Do you want me to speak to Fleur?"

Hermione grimaced. "No … better not, I think, after the conversation I had with her. You should just carry on watching him, like we agreed – don't argue, stay positive, go along with the fantasy as far as you can. I'll go back to the library; Madam Pince has some ideas for more references to research." She turned to go, then paused. "And Ron – "

"Yeah?" He looked at her.

"Like I said before – you should tell him how you feel." At the denial in his face, she added hastily, "You don't know, it could make a difference to how he deals with this."

"Yeah, it could make him want to end it all straight away." He shook his head. "No."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Let me know if anything changes."

~~~

"What about Rowena Ravenclaw? She was the smartest witch of her age, maybe even of all time … except for Hermione, of course. You're in Check, by the way. You're not even trying."

"I've got a few other things on my mind," Harry grumbled, but he fiddled with his queen and tried to think up a way out of the trap Ron had set for him. "I don't think Rowena Ravenclaw would be much help. She probably knows we destroyed her diadem by now."

"Oh well, if she's _that_ petty." Ron sat back and cracked his knuckles. "Godric Gryffindor would be on your side."

"They'd just call Salazar Slytherin as a witness for the other side, and it'd turn into a bun-fight."

"Be interesting to watch though, yeah?" Ron grinned at him, and Harry grinned back despite his gloomy thoughts.

"Maybe someone a bit more recent. Anyone you can think of? I'm wishing I read _Modern Magical History_ a bit more closely now."

"Well … there's John Dee, he advised Queen Elizabeth the Third on magic," Ron said doubtfully.

Harry looked at him, amused. "Ron – there have only been two Queen Elizabeths and one of them's still alive!"

"Oh well …!" Ron shrugged. "It's not like she was a witch, is it? We don't have royalty, it's a Muggle thing."

"Right. So do you think he'd help me?"

"To be honest, I've no idea," Ron admitted. "Maybe not. They were a funny lot back then."

"So we're back to where we started." Harry sighed and put his queen down. "Look, I'm going to concede, there's no way I'm going to win this."

Ron grinned. "Do you want me to tell me how you could?"

"Don't kick a bloke when he's down!"

"All right, all right. Have another go." Ron cleared the chess board and began to set it up again.

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched him through half-closed eyes. Hermione had gone about her business after breakfast, leaving stern instructions for Harry to continue to rest, so they were sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, at one of the tables near the window, and morning sunlight was pouring in through it, turning Ron's hair into a halo of brilliant red-gold.

It made Harry's chest ache with longing and misery. When he woke that morning he'd found Ron asleep in the chair next to his bed, still fully dressed. Merlin only knew where the others had gone for the night; they were the only two in the dormitory. Plainly Ron had sat up with him all night; no one could ask for a better friend.

But Harry was greedy. He wanted more than just friendship and he was painfully aware that he could lose this appeal and die without Ron ever knowing how he felt about him. The nobler part of him said that this was just as well, that the final days of their friendship shouldn't be tarnished in Ron's memories by a declaration that would change how Ron saw him forever. But … the greedy part of him said he didn't want to die knowing that he hadn't even tried.

They would be the hardest words he ever said.

"Ron …"

"Hmm?"

"If I die tomorrow, what will you do? Will you, you know, be all right?"

Ron's head shot up, his eyes wide with horror. "Stop that _now_ ," he said sharply, but there was a catch in his voice. "You are not going to die, Harry. Understand? You're _not_."

"We're all doing to die one day," Harry said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "I reckon we know that better than just about anyone, after chasing Voldemort around and trying to kill him for however long. It's going to happen and I'm okay with that, actually. It's just …" He stopped. Swallowed. "Well, if this doesn't go the way I want, I could be dying a lot sooner than I planned. I didn't expect it to end like this, you know, and … I just need to know you'll be all right."

Ron's expression quickly changed to one of incredulity. "All right? _All right?_ How the bloody buggering hell am I supposed to be _all right_ if you drop dead, you git?"

"I'm not suggesting you'd be happy about it," Harry said. He was beginning to wish he hadn't said anything. "I'm just saying … you'll manage, yeah? You won't let it change anything, you'll do everything you want to do."

"Like what?" There was a frightened, bewildered look in Ron's eyes that defied his angry tone. "We haven't made any plans yet, have we?"

"I know, but …" This wasn't going the way he wanted it to.

"What do you think I'm going to do? Forget about you?" Ron demanded.

"No - "

"We're mates. We talked about joining the Aurors! Do you really think I'm going to do stuff like that without you?"

"I don't know." Harry ran a finger over the edge of the chess board, wondering what to say. "I suppose I thought … maybe you'd patch things up with Hermione."

Ron slammed his hand down on the board, knocking the chessmen flying and making Harry jump. He all but threw himself out of his chair and took a couple of hasty steps, turning his back on Harry and rubbing up his hair with his hands.

"Not - not happening," he said and it sounded like his jaw was clenched. For a moment he was very still, then he turned back to face Harry with a challenge on his face. "What are you trying to tell me? That you're planning to get back together with Ginny after all?"

"What? No!" There was a touch more violence in this than Harry intended. "We're talking about me dying - "

"No we're not." Ron gave him a grim smile, and took his seat again. "I reckon we both know that, so why don't you tell me what this is really about?"

"Ron - "

"For the last time, Harry, you are not going to die! Tell me what this is really about."

"I …" Harry's mouth dried up. He tried again. "Look, I just … it's … I was thinking that if I die, well … I'd hate myself for being a coward."

The look on Ron's face was almost comical. "You'd hate yourself for being a coward? A _coward?_ Harry … you've already died once. You walked into the forest to face Voldemort alone because you wanted to save the rest of us. How can you even think you're a coward?"

"Yeah, well .. I'm starting to realise there's different kinds of courage," Harry said. He couldn't look at Ron, it was too difficult. "Letting Voldemort kill me was nothing to this."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. I - I'm not even sure I understand myself. I don't understand where this came from or why, and I didn't go looking for it, but …"

"But?"

"Do you remember me telling you that Ginny was a substitute for what I really needed?" Harry asked him unsteadily. "The other day, by the lake?"

"Before you started seeing Snape, you mean?" Ron said. "Yeah, I remember. Is that what this is about?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "Yeah, that's what it's about."

"So what was Ginny a substitute for?"

If Harry had looked at Ron at that moment, he might have seen the intense look in his friend's eyes again. But he couldn't look at him.

"She was a substitute for you."

The common room was very still for a moment, then Ron shifted sharply in his chair and Harry flinched inwardly, expecting some kind of angry or disbelieving outburst.

"Well, that explains a lot."

Ron's voice was almost brutally matter-of-fact, but there was a shaken note underneath that Harry just registered. He looked up, startled, to see his friend sitting back in his chair and contemplating the black knight in his hand with a very odd expression.

"It ... does?"

"Yeah." Ron sighed and put the knight down, and he folded his hands over his stomach as he regarded Harry. He was quite clearly trying to hang onto that veneer of matter-of-factness as a cover for whatever his real feelings were. "That day by the lake I could have sworn you said you loved me, but I thought maybe I was hallucinating that bit - especially when you started ranting about Snape."

"I, er ..." Harry found he had to clear his throat. He'd assumed Ron hadn't heard that part and it was disconcerting to discover that he had after all. Nor was it possible to tell from Ron's tone what he thought about it. "Yeah," he said, giving up and hoping something would happen to rescue him. This was not how he'd imagined this conversation would go.

Although part of his original expectation had involved a punch to the face, so he was doing quite well, all things considered.

"Tell me something," Ron said, still in that deceptively straightforward voice, "how long have you been thinking this sort of thing?"

That was a good question, but Harry answered without even thinking about it: "Since I met you on the train when we were eleven." He stopped, startled by the way this had popped out. Then he realised it was true and was even more stunned.

"Seriously?" Ron sounded shocked. "You knew even then?"

"I didn't _know_ , no," Harry managed. "But looking back ..."

Ron ran a hand over his face, looking lost for words for a moment, then he seemed to gather himself and sat up, resting his forearms on the chessboard without much care for the indignant chessmen. His eyes were on Harry.

"Second Task," he said.

Harry blinked. "What about it?"

"I was the thing you'd miss most?" Ron prompted.

Harry felt a burst of uncomfortable warmth in his face and neck. "I ... yeah. Now that you mention it I suppose that was a sign too."

This was embarrassing in retrospect, mostly because of the people he'd had the hots for that year. Cho. And Cedric. And it seemed that there had been something under the surface for Ron as well, although he hadn't liked to look at it too closely at the time.

"That should have been a big clue to me, shouldn't it?" Ron said, almost to himself.

"Why? It wasn't to me." It was no good. He couldn't sit here just waiting for the axe to fall or, worse, for Ron to do something to brush it all off so that neither of them ever had to talk about it again. "Are you planning to hit me? Or hex me, or something? Because if you are, just go on and do it, I won't stop you."

Ron made an odd sound in his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a harrumph. "Hermione was right, I should have just said something already. I would have, if I'd known."

"What?" Harry said, puzzled, but Ron only shook his head. "Look, this doesn't have to change anything, all right? I'm just ... explaining. I mean, I could die tomorrow and I just wanted you to know - "

"You are _not_ dying tomorrow, how many times do I have to say that?" Ron demanded, aggravated. "Besides, you can't die now, you prat! You're not using that as some kind of pathetic excuse to get out of making good on this!"

"What?" Harry said again, more confused than ever.

"You can't tell me you fancy me, then try to duck out of it," Ron told him. He grinned but there was a nervous edge to it. "Coward!"

"I - what? Am I missing something here?" Harry demanded.

"Yeah, you big prat. Why do you think Hermione and I really split up?"

They stared at each other.

"You git," Harry said finally. "You sat there and let me screw myself into knots saying all that stuff, when all along you fancied me anyway! Why didn't you say something before?"

"Why didn't you?" Ron shot back.

"I did! You heard me say it, by the lake!"

"Yeah, and half a second later you were ranting about bloody Professor Snape paying you a visit. Do you have any idea how much that sounded like Luna shouting "Look! A Flibbering Glibwhistle!" or whatever the hell it was?" Harry gave an involuntary laugh. "And then," Ron continued, in a tone of strong indignation, "you collapsed in my lap and we've been chasing Snape-shaped mirages ever since! Excuse me if I thought maybe you didn't say what I thought you said, or I thought you changed your mind or something!"

"And Hermione's been telling you to say something already?" Harry said mockingly. "Yeah, right. You poor misunderstood _tosser!_ "

"Yeah," Ron agreed, deflating a little. "Okay. Maybe I was, a bit. But so were you!"

Harry considered arguing the point, but decided it wasn't worth it. "So what now?" he asked instead.

"Buggered if I know," Ron admitted. "Set up wedding lists at Madam Malkin's? Leave the country? Which we'll probably have to do anyway when Mum finds out, since she'll never forgive the pair of us for not marrying Hermione and Ginny."

"I hadn't thought of that," Harry said, and he made a face.

"Look on the bright side," Ron said more cheerfully. "If we wait long enough, Bill'll knock Fleur up and George and Percy'll get married, and then she might not notice."

"Fat chance!" Harry said, amused, but he cheered up a little. "Before we do anything else, I need to win my appeal."

"Nah, mate. Before we do anything else, we need to do this - " Ron stood up and before Harry could decide how to react he was being pulled out of his chair and into a hug.

It felt all kinds of awkward at first, with limbs getting tangled and chins colliding with bony points; Harry had never been more conscious of Ron's superior height and bulk before. There was also a strange sense of the familiar/unfamiliar - they'd hugged before, of course, by the side of the pool in the forest, but this was different. _That_ had been a reaffirmation of their friendship, and this was an acknowledgement of something new beginning. Harry was deeply conscious of the smell and heat of Ron's body and the thrumming of his own heart.

Once, only a little more than a day ago, he had measured what was left of his own life by those heartbeats. Now he found he wanted to measure it by Ron's heartbeat instead.

"You're going to beat this," Ron said into his left ear, and Harry felt the words through his bones.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The comforting rumble was like a promise. "And then …"

~~~

"You really talked?" Hermione said. She was so staggered she almost dropped the pile of books she was carrying. "Merlin! So what happened then?"

"We played chess and talked about who he could get to defend his appeal," Ron said.

"You ... _what?_ "

"We played chess," he said, bemused by her tone.

Hermione closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "Let me get this straight," she said in a tone of great restraint. "You declared your undying love for each other - "

"No we didn't!" Ron interrupted, revolted. "We agreed we fancy each other! We're not a pair of girls!"

"And then you _played chess?_ "

"Well, yeah. I won the last two games, so Harry wanted a re-match."

"The pair of you are impossible!" she declared indignantly. "It's only about the most life-altering thing you could say to each other, but all you do is carrying on playing chess!"

"Well, what were we supposed to do?" Ron demanded.

"I could think of a few things! Kiss! Jump into bed! Or even, God forbid, talk about it and discuss how it's going to affect your lives!"

Ron decided she was quite mad. "We've got ages to do all of that stuff! Besides," he added cannily, "there's a curse on him, remember?"

Unfooled, Hermione gave him a filthy look. "Men!"

"Glad you noticed," he retorted.

He was not about to tell her that they'd stood hugging each other for nearly half an hour. Besides, they _had_ gone back to playing chess. Eventually.

~~~

Dinner was interesting that evening, if by 'interesting' one actually meant 'weird and annoying'. Harry felt ridiculously tired as he forked his paella into his mouth. The food, though probably delicious, held very little interest for him and he was constantly distracted by the bickering between Ron and Hermione. Harry had been daunted when she joined them that evening with an immense pile of books and parchment which she proceeded to work on around bites of her meal; but as distracting as this was, the peculiar and stilted conversation she carried on with Ron, in which he was sure something was being said that he was missing, was almost worse. Hermione told him that she was working on something for Madam Pince, but she wasn't much of a liar and he was forced to conclude that they were up to something they'd deliberately excluded him from.

Then Hermione wanted to know if they'd decided on someone to defend his appeal and he had to admit that they hadn't. Her annoyance at this was even more daunting, and he finally took himself off to bed in the hope that sleep might bring some clarity of thought.

In fact, Harry felt reasonably sure that he wouldn't sleep at all with so much on his mind, but he fell into bed without bothering to do more than strip down to his t-shirt and boxers, and he nodded off almost at once.

When he awoke again the room was dark and silent, although moonlight poured through the windows on his side of the tower. He felt calm and alert as he threw back the covers and sat up; his dressing gown was hanging from a hook on the end post of his bed, so he got up and pulled it on over his pyjamas. Nothing stirred as he walked to the dormitory door and opened it.

Somehow he wasn't surprised to find Snape there, and since his presence explained a great deal Harry also wasn't particularly surprised to discover that instead of the usual stone tower stairs that should have been there, there was a revolving staircase like the one that led to the headmaster's office, slowly winding its way up out of sight.

"You took your time," Snape said disagreeably.

"Was I expecting you?" Harry asked him, not stepping outside the dormitory. Snape wasn't actually standing on the staircase, but Harry didn't entirely trust him all the same.

"Idiot. Since you clearly lack the basic reasoning skills necessary to select your counsel, I have been instructed to help you."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Presumably because it's my karmic debt to render assistance to the ungrateful - if I believed in karma, which at this point seems remarkably redundant, so possibly this is merely my own personal purgatory. I wouldn't be at all surprised." Snape waited a moment, then heaved an exasperated sigh. "Well? Do you want my help or not? If you're waiting for Weasley to pull a rabbit out of his trousers, you may as well give up now and report to the Recorder's office at once. Granger might have come up with a half-passable notion or two, but if the best your lust-object can do is a discredited Tudor Muggle-lover ..."

Harry gave him a dirty look, but he reluctantly stepped out onto the bottom step of the revolving stairs and Snape joined him.

"You may as well take a seat," Snape said, suiting action to words himself and perching on one of the risers, wrapping the folds of his black robes around his knees primly. "There's an infinity of possibilities here." He gestured to the walls that were slowly scrolling past them, and for the first time Harry noticed the portraits hanging on them. "Consider the great thinkers of our world, Potter - Athenodoros - Paracelsus - Morgana - Blaise, the teacher of Merlin - "

"How likely is it that any of these people will help me?" Harry asked sceptically.

To his mild surprise, Snape didn't take offence at his tone. He merely pursed his lips and waggled a hand in mid-air. "Questionable, admittedly. Morgana would support you, I'm sure."

"Someone like that could turn on me just as easily," Harry pointed out. "I've read about her."

"No Quidditch on the wireless that evening?" Snape asked rather snidely. "You shouldn't believe the fear-mongering tales told by Muggles, Potter. Morgana was a powerful and learned witch."

"What about wizards?" Harry asked, unimpressed.

"I trust you are not hoping to acquire the services of Merlin himself. Aside from the sheer presumption of it, it would be pointless. He presides as judge over this appeal."

"Great," Harry mumbled. "Ron suggested Godric Gryffindor, but I reckon the other side would just bring in Salazar Slytherin and it'd get personal."

"You could, perhaps, turn the question about and request Slytherin himself," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Whilst I see little evidence of it myself, there have been those who have noted a certain Slytherin-like tendency in you, after all."

"I reckon I can do without that kind of stuff being brought up again," Harry said dryly. He watched some of the portraits slowly moving past them as the stairs revolved. "I haven't got a clue who most of these people are - I mean, who's she?"

Snape's eyes followed his pointing finger. "Hedwig of Kalisz, consort of Wladislaw the Elbow-High. She was a clever politician."

"I've had enough of politicians to last me a lifetime!"

"A pardonable sentiment, I suppose. You will not, then, be interested in the services of Machiavelli?"

Harry couldn't resist a grin. "Seeing as his name's practically a synonym for political twistedness, probably not."

"Admittedly he might be a - Potter, did you just use the word _synonym?_ Correctly?"

"There's no need to sound so surprised." Harry sighed. "Isn't there someone more recent? I get the feeling most of these people wouldn't understand someone like me."

"You ask for the impossible if you want _that,_ " Snape muttered. "However, there are more modern wizards of some note."

"If you say Aleister Crowley, I'll push you down the stairs."

"Certainly not. Crowley was a puerile Muggle fantasist, Potter, not a wizard."

"He had a lot of followers, though, didn't he?"

"Muggles," Snape said in a bored voice.

"I wonder if all of them were. He caused a bit of an upset, didn't he?"

"The man somehow laid hands on an ancient volume of wizard esoterica. That he based his theories on genuine material does not mean he actually _achieved_ true magic, however. The 'upset' as you refer to it occurred during several attempts to retrieve the book."

"Whatever. I'm not interested in him, anyway. Look, what about someone nearer to me? Family or someone like that?"

Snape's eyes fixed on him knowingly. "The idiot who fathered you? You may as well concede the appeal now and have done with it!"

"No, I wasn't thinking of Dad," Harry said curtly, and he turned away.

"Then who?"

Harry shrugged. He could think of several people still living, actually, but some gut instinct told him that including them might be dangerous. What happened when the appeal was over, after all? Did they get to continue their lives, regardless of what happened to Harry? He didn't want anyone to lose their life over him. And returning without him might be worse for them, a pretty horrible thing to have to live with.

"Weasley?" Snape's voice intruded.

"No!"

A snort. "Not the idiot lust object, Potter. The one who has already obeyed his summons."

Harry twisted around sharply, his eyes wide. "Fred?"

"Indeed," Snape said silkily.

Harry felt a surge of relief and delight. Fred had made it safely to the other side! And he was one of the smartest, trickiest people who had ever been on Harry's side - Harry was sure he would speak for him -

A portrait scrolled into view behind Snape and for the first time it was someone Harry recognised: Sirius Black. But not the Sirius Harry remembered, not the laughing man who dared death to take him, not the godfather who had been there for him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, not the man he had first met in the Shrieking Shack, not even the convict he had seen in newspaper clippings, raging against his imprisonment.

This Sirius, dressed in the long frock coat and velvet waistcoat Harry remembered seeing him wear that final Christmas, stood in the frame of his portrait and stared back at Harry, grim and tense and visibly anxious, his brow furrowed and his eyes urgent as though he was trying to convey some message to his godson. Then he deliberately turned to look up, in the direction the stairs were moving.

Harry's eyes irresistibly followed his and he glanced over his shoulder to see what Sirius was looking at.

The revolving staircase climbed inexorably upwards, further than his eyes could see, until it disappeared into swirling mists. Shocked, Harry swung around and peered down to the stairs below. The dormitory doorway was gone as though it had never been there, and mists lapped gently around the slowly climbing stairs.

Realisation hit Harry and he turned on Snape furiously.

"You tricked me! I should have known - you're not interested in helping me at all, are you? Of all the low, conniving - "

"I am what I am!" Snape snapped. "That should hardly be news to you, Potter. And you seem to forget that there was a time when my _low, conniving tricks_ saved your life!"

"But you're not trying to save my life anymore, are you?" Harry retorted. "Doesn't the irony in that even cross your mind, Professor? You spent all those years risking your life to save mine, and now you're coming back from the dead to kill me off!"

"You're already dead, you fool - the proverbial dead man walking! All you're doing with this doomed attempt at an appeal is dragging out the inevitable - "

"You should know me better than this," Harry told him, getting to his feet. He felt shaky with anger and fright. "You should know better than to think I'd just give up and come quietly, if there was even the tiniest sliver of a chance!"

"Where are you going? Potter, come back here! Potter! Harry Potter! Harry - "

But Harry was already running down the steps as fast as he could, leaving Snape to caw his angry protests in the distance. The steps seemed to go on forever - how could they have travelled up so far in such short time? - but Harry dared not stop for a second, though his head swam and his heart pounded and he was bathed in cold sweat …

~~~

"Harry! Harry, wake up! Harry - !"

Harry shook with fright and exhaustion, and as he did so the mists faded gently away and colour returned and he found himself being shaken by Ron, who was pleading with him to wake up. The last image of the staircase fled from the back of his eyes to be replaced by the dormitory before him, lit gently by wandlight and empty of anyone but the two of them. He was cold and shivering and bathed in an icy sweat, his head aching and his heart racing. He wanted to cry with relief at the sight of the familiar scarlet bed-hangings and Ron's solid t-shirt-clad figure. Even the pain of Ron's bruising grip on his shoulders was welcome.

Ron was nearly weeping too. "Harry, dammit mate, you come back to me this minute!"

"I'm back," Harry said weakly. "I'm back, I'm back, but Ron, he nearly had me, they nearly got me without any appeal at all …"

"Bloody hell!" Ron sniffed just once, swallowed and squared his shoulders. "You're freezing," he muttered, and he released Harry to go and drag the hand-knitted blanket off his own bed and wrap it around Harry's shoulders.

Harry's eyes wandered blankly over the room. "Where are the others?" he mumbled.

"Bunking in the dorm below, to give you a bit of peace and quiet. Budge over," Ron commanded, and Harry shifted over in his bed without thinking about it. To his confusion Ron threw back the covers and climbed under them next to him.

"What are you doing?"

"I reckon we'll both sleep easier if I'm a bit closer," Ron said, and there was a touch of nervous defiance in his eyes when they met Harry's.

Harry wasn't about to argue. Ron was as warm as toast and reassuringly solid. It was a tight squeeze, but he lay down with his nose pressed into the hollow of Ron's throat and Ron tugged at the covers and blanket until they were both tucked around them. One arm wrapped around Harry to hold him close and Harry could practically feel Ron's breath surging through his lungs.

Exhausted, he whispered, "He nearly had me. Snape, I mean … he pretended to help me find someone to plead my case, but all the time he was trying to lure me away. I nearly died …"

"But you didn't." Ron's quiet words tickled his right ear and the warmth of his breath soothed him. "You're here with me and you're alive. I'm not going to let you go. Relax and try to sleep, Harry. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I still don't know what to do."

"You'll think of someone. You will."

"Yeah …"

Comforted by Ron's nearness, Harry slept.

~~~

Harry slept until well past lunchtime the following day, which spared him the sight of Ron and Hermione looking bleary-eyed and grim at the breakfast table as Ron recounted the episode of the previous evening.

"This is not good," Hermione admitted, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline. "He's getting worse, I think. The next attack really could kill him."

"Don't you have any idea yet what it is?" Ron asked.

"No, but I did find some incomplete references to curses that can sap the victim's strength over time. He's sleeping a lot, isn't he? That sounds a lot like the curses I was reading about, but none of them involve hallucinations like these." Hermione rubbed her eyes with one hand. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've almost exhausted the books at Hogwarts. I don't know where else to go for information."

"What about Bill?"

"Still hasn't contacted me. I think I'm going to have to go back to Professor McGonagall and tell her what's happening. She might have a contact who could help."

"Yeah, maybe." Ron eyed her with concern. "I reckon you should sleep a bit more first, though."

"I can't." Her eyes were red-rimmed but held a frightening look. "We don't have time, don't you see? His appeal is tonight. If we don't work this out, he could die for real."

"But if you don't have anywhere else to look - "

"I said I've _almost_ exhausted the library. There are still a couple of books in the Restricted Section that might hold a clue." Hermione drained her coffee, and got to her feet. "I'll see you in a while. Don't leave him on his own!"

Ron watched her go, and tried to keep a grip on his own panic. He wasn't sure he was willing to pin Harry's hopes of a cure on the last couple of unexplored books in the library, and once he had acknowledged this he could feel his resolve hardening. On the other side of the common room, Neville was talking to Dean; he got up and went over to them.

"Hey - could one of you do me a favour and keep an eye on Harry for a while?" he asked. "There's something I need to do that can't wait."

~~~

It was past two o'clock when Harry finally surfaced, and despite over twelve hours of sleep he was still groggy and tired-looking. Nor was he much interested in eating, despite Ron's gentle, worried nagging at him to at least swallow some toast. Any idea of him helping out with the day's repair tasks was shelved; all Harry really wanted to do was curl up in the corner of a sofa in the common room and brood over his upcoming appeal.

Given his behaviour, it was now impossible to hide that something was badly wrong. Ron took Neville, Seamus and Dean to one side and explained about the possible curse, although he still left out the part about Harry's hallucinations, not wanting those to become common knowledge.

"But what are we doing about it?" Seamus demanded, shocked.

"Hermione's been researching it …"

"And she can't find anything?" Neville glanced none-too-subtly over his shoulder, but Harry was too preoccupied to notice anyone else. "Shouldn't we call in an expert?"

"We have, it's just taking him a while to get in touch," Ron replied. "Look, I can't leave him and we don't want everyone in the castle to find out – it could cause a panic. Could you three cover for us?"

"Sure," Dean said. His dark eyes were worried. "And if there's anything else we can do – just ask, okay?"

"Thanks," Ron said, relieved. "You're real mates."

When he returned to his friend's side, Harry's eyes were feverishly bright despite his pallor.

"I've been thinking," he said, when Ron said down beside him.

"Yeah, mate?"

"Snape said something about my dad, but – but what about Sirius? Or Remus? Either of them would stand up for me, right? And they're both really smart. Of course Dad is too, but I don't feel like I know him all that well." Harry's voice took on a thin, dreamy note. "It'd be good if it could be Sirius …"

"I don't know, mate," Ron said nervously. "I mean, he's a bit hot-headed, isn't he? Rushing in where angels fear to tread, and all that. Don't you need someone a bit cooler than that, someone who can use their head and talk people in circles?"

"I don't know anyone like that though."

"Yeah, you do. We know loads of people …"

Harry's hand reached out to grab his wrist and Ron was shocked at his weakness and the trembling of his fingers. "Snape suggested Fred," he said.

The name hit Ron like a punch to the solar plexus, physically taking his breath away for a moment. He struggled to come up with a response to this, but Harry barely seemed to notice.

"I thought that was a good idea, you know? Fred always stood up for his friends too, and he's sneaky and smart."

"Harry …" Ron dragged in a deep breath and told himself that he was not going to get angry with Harry over this. It wasn't as though he was doing it deliberately, he was under the influence of a malicious enchantment and anyone could see that he barely knew what he was saying. "Harry, no … not Fred," he managed. He couldn't bear that. "Let him rest, eh?"

"No, no …maybe not." Harry let his head loll back against the sofa cushions. "I wish my head would stop aching," he complained. "I'm so tired."

"It will." Never had Ron felt like he was telling a bigger lie and that, combined with the unexpected mention of his brother, made his eyes sting with helpless tears. Feeling like a fool, he said very quietly, "I love you, you know. You've got to promise me you'll win this appeal, Harry, 'cause I don't know what I'll do if you leave me on my own."

Harry's eyes were heavy and ringed with purple shadows, but at this he managed a smile. "I'm going to win it for both of us," he murmured. "They can't take this away from me."

Ron squeezed his fingers. "That's it. You keep fighting!"

Harry nodded. Then he slowly dragged himself upright. "Reckon I'm going to go and lie down again," he said. "The room's rocking."

Ron had to all but carry him back up the stairs to the dormitory.

~~~

"You should have told me you thought it was a curse!" Madam Pomfrey said angrily, even as she gently encouraged Harry to sip a Restorative Draught. "And you should have brought him back to me as soon as he had another episode! Look at how weak he's become, and in such a short space of time …"

Harry was pale, his skin almost translucent, and his brow was beaded with sweat. His eyes, previously fever-bright, were now dull and he seemed to regard everything happening around him as though from a remove; he smiled faintly in response to every question Madam Pomfrey put to him, but his attention remained largely fixed upon Ron, who hadn't left his side.

"If it's the kind of curse I think it is, giving him potions to strengthen him won't do any good," Hermione argued. "You're just giving it more energy to feed off – "

"You are _not_ an expert in these matters, Miss Granger!"

"I told you, we're waiting for an expert to contact us – "

"And we're here." Bill walked into the dormitory, closely followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and at once the room seemed a great deal smaller.

Hermione let out a cry of surprise and relief and Ron could have kissed his brother, he was so relieved to see him.

"About bloody time you got here!" he said, trying to hide his real reaction under the roughness.

Bill didn't seem to be fooled. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry about that." He pulled off his cloak and flung it over the end of Seamus's bed. His eyes were on Harry, but he spoke to everyone else. "I got Hermione's message yesterday, but I needed to check a few books before I came up here. Then Kingsley contacted me about your Floo call, Ron, and we made a detour to the Auror morgue."

"Your Floo call?" Hermione said, looking at Ron blankly.

He gave her a defiant stare in return. "I was really worried this morning, so I nipped up to the McGonagall's office and called Kingsley. It's gone too far, Hermione, you know it has! We need the experts."

"At least one of you has some common sense," Madam Pomfrey said, exasperated.

"You both did the right thing," Kingsley said, and his deep voice exercised its usual soothing effect. "Between us, we should be able to handle this."

Bill approached Harry and took one of his hands in his, rubbing his palm with his thumb until he got Harry's attention. "Harry mate," he said, in a firm, clear voice designed to reach through whatever haze he was in. "Did you visit the bodies before they were moved? When they were in the Great Hall?"

Harry seemed to think about this for a long time. "Yeah," he breathed finally. "Morning after. Went to see … Remus … and Fred."

"Thought so. All right, mate." Bill put his hand down and looked across at Shacklebolt. "Bet that's it."

"Bet that's _what?_ " Ron demanded.

"There was a body in with our people that we can't identify. An older bloke, with a beard."

"We haven't identified him _yet_ ," Shacklebolt said. "He doesn't have the Dark Mark, but that doesn't mean anything. It may be that Potter picked up a curse from the body – there was some magical trace left that we haven't identified either - but given his activities that day, he could have picked it up almost anywhere. We've isolated the body as a precaution and checked everyone who came into contact with it, but if Potter triggered a curse there won't be anything left but residue."

"Can you break the curse?" Hermione asked Bill.

"Maybe," he said, and he grimaced. "It's not so much a curse as a trap-spell, and once someone's caught inside it, it takes a two pronged attack to throw it off. We can run a cleansing ritual on Harry, but he has to make the effort to fight it from inside too. And the problem with that is the spell is usually set up make the victim resist the idea of breaking it – there'll be some aspect about the visions he's having that's attractive and it'll make him ambivalent about letting go of them. Plus it uses his own strength to fuel itself, which weakens him."

"He keeps seeing Professor Snape," Ron said, and he heard Madam Pomfrey's tiny gasp of dismay. "He says that he was supposed to die and Snape was told to come and collect him. He's appealing against the decision, but he needs someone to argue his case for him and he can't decide who he should ask. The last time he saw Snape – " Ron's voice hitched slightly " – he says Snape nearly managed to trick him into going with him without a fight."

"He seems to be resisting it somewhat, then," Kingsley said.

"It's soon," Harry said with sudden, unexpected clarity.

"When?" Bill asked him. "When's the deadline, Harry?"

"Very soon," Harry said. His voice began to fade again and his head lolled against Ron's arm. "Sunset …"

Bill glanced towards the window and his lips thinned a little. "Then we don't have much time. Listen to me, Harry – Harry! Can you hear me?"

"Hm-hm …"

"Harry, you have to fight this. We can't help you if you don't fight!"

Harry gave him a peculiarly faraway look. "Can't help me anyway. Have to find someone on the other side to defend me."

Bill looked frustrated, but Hermione pushed him gently aside and crouched down beside the bed until she was fully on eye-level with Harry.

"Harry, if you can't find someone, you must argue your own case," she told him urgently.

"Snape didn't think that'd be a good idea," he said.

"He tried to trick you, mate," Ron pointed out. "I don't think listening to him is such a good idea, right?"

Harry managed a small smile. "Yeah."

"You need to be clever and sneaky," Hermione pressed on. "You _can_ fight your own corner, Harry! You know you can. Whatever you do, don't let them say that you don't have a right to live. You do! You have so many reasons to live. Just remember that and refuse to give in. All right?"

He smiled a little and closed his eyes.

"That's that," Kingsley said. "There's nothing more we can do here. Let's set up for the ritual."

"In here?" Hermione said doubtfully.

"No … downstairs in the common room, I think," Bill said. "There's more room there. We can carry him down when we're ready. Come on, all hands to the deck – we're going to need to move the furniture and fast. You too, Ron."

"Shouldn't someone stay with him?"

"He'll be fine for five minutes. Madam Pomfrey, we could use your help too …"

~~~

Harry watched them all leave, Ron very reluctantly and glancing back at him before he walked out of the door. The light seemed to fade a little as he went, then a tiny sound at the window caught Harry's attention and he looked around.

Hedwig was perched on the window ledge, peering at him enquiringly.

"Hullo!" Harry said, quite unsurprised, and he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. "Have you come to take them my decision, girl?"

She hooted a soft affirmative and ruffled her feathers a little.

"All right. Let me just find a quill and parchment …" Harry rummaged in the drawer of his bedside table until he found the necessary articles. Then he wrote a name on the slip of parchment and blew on it gently to dry the ink. "Here …"

Hedwig flew to him and settled on his shoulder while he folded and affixed the note to her leg. Then she nibbled the top of his ear affectionately and took off, swooping gracefully out of the window.

"I think he'll help me out," Harry said to himself, watching her go. "He always has before."

~~~

"All you have to do, Harry, is lie inside the circle," Bill said.

Ron had to help Harry over the edge of the circle and then lower him gently to the floor. The common room carpet had been rolled back to expose the bare floorboards and the dust cleaned away, and in its place was a ring of coarse crystalline salt and a series of small flickering lights inside clay pots.

Harry accepted all of this without question, watching curiously as though from a great distance. Seated on the floor, he obeyed Ron's urging and laid down with his head on a small flat cushion taken from one of the window seats.

"Why are you dressed up?" he asked Kingsley dreamily. The Auror was wearing a long black velvet robe with odd symbols stitched around the bottom border, as was Bill.

"We're going to try something unusual to make you feel better," Kingsley replied in his deep, calm voice and Harry nodded, accepting this.

"Thanks. I appreciate it, Mr. Shacklebolt."

Hermione made a tiny distressed sound and hastily turned away, and Ron had to take a couple of steadying breaths, but Kingsley seemed unmoved.

"You're welcome, Harry. Just remember that we can't do this alone, though. You need to fight your own corner - do you understand? Don't give up, no matter what happens. You need to win your appeal."

"Okay." Harry shifted a little, settling his head more comfortably.

"We're ready. Remember what I said."

"Got to win the appeal," Harry agreed. "I reckon he can, if anyone can."

His listeners exchanged worried looks at this.

"Who?" Ron asked him urgently, but Harry only smiled fondly at him and closed his eyes.

"All right," Bill said. "Everyone stay outside the circle of lights and focus on putting your energies into what we're doing ... follow our lead ..."

~~~

All of history was gathering to witness this, the unprecedented appeal against the universal law that said mortal humankind had one fixed, predetermined span of life which would terminate at one given moment and no later. The great multitudes streamed together towards the vast arena where Harry Potter's fate would play out before them.

Severus Snape waited some distance from the various entrances into the court, until the man he had been looking for approached in the company of the Pharaoh Rameses II's second favourite court magician. They were discussing the wording of a spell written over the tomb entrance of a minor princess of the second dynasty –

"Muggles place too much reliance upon the Rosetta Stone. I assure you, the key word was originally _lies_ , not _flies_ , quite a different matter as I'm sure you will agree!"

"That would certainly explain the unprecedented outbreak of dishonesty in the workers' village at Deir el Medina three hundred years later," Dumbledore agreed. "Dear me, how very curious! To mistake two such distinct symbols is rather odd, wouldn't you say? Ah, Severus! My dear fellow, how good to see you! Have you met Menhotetep? We've been comparing our experiences of the Valley of the Kings."

Long experience warned Snape that to answer this would only result in a delay of a significant period, so he ignored it. "You are summoned," he stated.

"I am? Ah well." Dumbledore gave Menhotetep a little bow. "Forgive me, my friend, we are obliged to continue our debate at a later moment."

Menhotetep bowed an acknowledgement and proceeded on his way, leaving Dumbledore to regard Snape with a disconcerting twinkle in his eyes.

"Lead on, Severus – I'm sure it wouldn't do to keep anyone waiting, especially as I'm already somewhat in disgrace."

Snape gave him a decidedly jaundiced look. "Do you even care?" he asked as they proceeded.

"I hope no one could accuse me of being uncaring," was Dumbledore's unrevealing reply.

"It might be argued that your greatest fault lies in the opposite direction entirely."

"I have many faults, but I don't consider that to be one of them."

"He won't win this," Snape said. He couldn't quite hide the note of pique in his voice.

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Why do you say so?"

"It's unprecedented – "

"Only until someone creates a precedent, Severus."

"Why does he deserve to be different?" Snape said, and pique was now overt. "What makes him so bloody special?"

"Harry has been different from the moment of his birth," Dumbledore replied, "and through no agency of his own. If you could for one moment remove your blinkers and view him without prejudice, you would see what I have always known about him – that the one thing he craves in his life is _not_ to be special. Or not in the way that he is, at any rate."

"Then his appeal should fail!"

"I'm afraid I cannot agree with you," Dumbledore said calmly. "The rights of the uncommon man must always be respected."

And with that they entered the presence of the one charged with arranging Harry Potter's unprecedented appeal. The Recorder had passed matters over to a higher authority; this august individual was Minerva, goddess of wisdom. Her cool gaze swept over the various personages assembled before her and in one hand she held the slip of parchment delivered only moments before by Hedwig, who now perched on the back of Minerva's carved stone chair and lightly preened her feathers.

"Albus Dumbledore?" Minerva enquired coolly.

He bowed respectfully. "Madam."

"Are you familiar with Mr. Potter's case?"

"I am."

"I must inform you that Mr. Potter has chosen you to be his counsel in this matter."

Snape made a small, disagreeable sound that everyone ignored.

Dumbledore smiled. "I hoped he would."

"You have very little time to prepare," Minerva continued. "What facilities do you require?"

"With your permission, I should like to see my client and obtain his instructions – "

Someone cleared his throat politely; Lupin, Tonks and Fred were standing off to one side and Fred in particularly was bouncing on his toes, trying to catch his former headmaster's attention. Lupin raised his brows meaningfully and Tonks looked eager.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more than ever. "And I should like to subpoena Mr. and Mrs. Lupin and Mr. Weasley as witnesses."

"Very well. Conductor Snape will escort you to your client now."

~~~

The Gryffindor Common Room was very still and quiet when they arrived. Snape took one look around at the frozen tableau and gave a disgusted snort.

"Good grief, Shacklebolt - _voodoo?_ "

"If you do that voodoo - " Lupin murmured irrepressibly.

"That you do so well …" Tonks added, amused.

Fred opened his mouth to offer the next line and caught Professor Dumbledore's eye. He let it go, grinning, and Dumbledore winked at them as he turned back to Snape. "Oh, I think _voodoo_ would be a rather simplistic interpretation, Severus. I suspect this is more likely an Inca cleansing ritual. How clever of Kingsley and Bill to have thought of it! Now - where is Harry?"

Snape snorted again - throwing a quick glare over his shoulder at Lupin to let him know that he hadn't missed their byplay - and stalked into the circle of candles. "Potter! Do stop lying about, time is hardly on your side here."

Harry opened his eyes and sat up, blinking and peering around. "Have I missed anything important?" he asked, accepting the hand Snape extended to pull him to his feet. His eyes fell on Bill, who was standing to one side of him, draped in his long black cloak with the hood pulled nearly over his eyes and one hand raised with - "Is that a _chicken's foot_ he's holding?"

"I think it more likely to be an eagle's claw," Dumbledore said with a smile, and Harry whipped around, wide-eyed.

"Professor!" He hopped quickly over the candles and hugged the headmaster, who chuckled.

"My dear boy!"

Then Harry saw the others. "Remus - Tonks - Fred!" He rushed to hug them all. "I didn't think I'd see you all here ..."

"Try to keep us away!" Fred told him, slapping him on the back. "Do you know how long we hung around in the waiting room until they realised you weren't going to turn up? It was brilliant - you should have heard the alarms that went off! Best prank any of us ever pulled!"

Harry laughed. "I didn't do it deliberately, Fred! But - don't you all want me with you?"

"Not at all! We have a vested interest in you winning this appeal," Lupin reminded him.

"Yeah, our kid needs his godfather," Tonks said.

"And someone needs to keep an eye on George for me," Fred added.

"Yeah, I just have to win. Something no one's ever done before."

"Before you, no one had ever survived the Killing Curse before," Dumbledore said calmly. Then he reached out and took Harry's hands, giving him a searching look. "Harry, my dear fellow, are you sure you have chosen wisely?"

Harry nodded, quite certain. "I can't think of anyone better to represent me, sir."

"You humble me. I shall do my poor best."

"Some evidence would probably help, mind you," Lupin remarked.

"Evidence?" Harry made a face. "Like what? How do I prove I've fallen in love with someone?"

"More to the point," Snape said dryly, "how do you prove it makes an iota of difference to your current situation? Which, you may recall, I've been saying to you all along. Your feelings in this matter are of no moment, Potter. Rather you should be trying to prove that it makes the tiniest ripple of a difference to the orderly continuance of the mortal world."

"It'll make a difference to Ron!" Harry said irritably.

"So you keep saying," Snape said, sounding bored. "I remain underwhelmed."

Harry shot a glare at him and edged around the frozen individuals in the common room until he came to his friend. Ron's face was a mask of worry and misery. The others gathered around him too, studying his expression with varying degrees of interest and sympathy.

Fred folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Ron. You've got a thing for _Ron?_ Instead of my smart, sassy sister? My ickle bruv, the prat who takes love potions meant for other people and only shines in front of the hoops when he thinks he's had a dose of Liquid Luck? The only thing this is proof of is that you should be shut in a nice soft room and given Calming Draughts every couple of hours!"

"Ron, who stood up to an escaped convict for me when he had a broken leg; Ron, who jumped into an icy pool in the Forbidden Forest to rescue me when I got myself into a right stupid mess," Harry retorted. "Ron, who's had my back for seven years and nearly died because of it more than once!"

"That just makes him your friend," Tonks said, and she smiled when Harry turned a look of indignant betrayal on her. "I'm on your side, honest! But you've got to do better than that if you're going to convince anyone else."

"What am I supposed to say?" Harry demanded. "How am I supposed to speak for how _he_ feels? I'm not inside his head and I can only tell you what I believe!"

" _Has_ Ron said anything that would indicate his feelings towards you?" Dumbledore asked, interested.

Harry reddened a little. "Yeah."

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his spectacles. "Something definitive?"

Harry thought back to his conversation with Ron in the early hours of the previous morning. His eyes met Dumbledore's defiantly. "Yes."

"Then one might conjecture at his thoughts and feelings at this moment." Dumbledore studied Ron's face for a moment, then started slightly and adjusted his spectacles. "Ah! Observe ..."

"Observe what?" Fred asked, peering more closely at his brother. Then he snickered. "Merlin - Ron, you big girl!"

"Don't call him that!" Harry said, irritated by Fred's insensibility. He looked more closely too. "Oh ..."

"He's crying," Lupin said softly. "There's your evidence, Professor."

"Pity we can't package the thought behind that to go," Tonks said.

"Indeed, and why should we not?" Dumbledore said. He turned to Snape briskly. "Severus, I believe we will be taking Ronald's thoughts with us."

Snape grumbled about it, but produced a bulbous flask from inside his robes and passed it to the headmaster. Dumbledore drew his wand and very gently extracted a strand of thought from Ron's brow.

"That won't hurt him, will it?" Harry asked anxiously.

"It will be returned before he knows it's gone," Dumbledore promised as he slipped the thought into the flask and sealed it up. "Now, my friends - we have an appeal to attend."

~~~

Like the courtroom at the Ministry of Magic, the Court of Appeal sat in a vast chamber surrounded by steep tiered seats that stretched up and up, above floor level where those privileged to have a particular interest in the case would sit to observe. Interest was intense; even the highest seats would be filled in no time at all, but there would be no diminution of sound or visuals even from the topmost seats … if it could be said that a place like this even had a top row.

On the floor itself things were rather different. As a busy hum arose from the excited spectators gathering above them, Court officials and representatives of the Recorder's office bustled about. The edges of the space before the judge and jury's seats were heaped with piles of parchment and scrolls that had been brought in as evidence. The judge's seat was as yet empty, as were those of the jury, but only a few feet away from them the most interested parties were edging their way into their own places on the front benches.

Remus Lupin and Tonks paused at the beginning of the front row as Lupin scanned those who had already arrived; then he saw who he was looking for and raised a hand to them, a pleased smile breaking across his face. Fred, Colin and Cedric Diggory all had to stand up to let them pass (Dobby didn't, being small enough not to take up much room) but nobody minded that. Except, possibly, someone in the row behind who seemed inclined to be grumpy and was getting chewed out for it.

"I don't care if you were a bloody hero," Sirius Black was saying as Lupin and Tonks eased around Cedric. "That doesn't give you a free pass to be an arse now … not that you weren't always an arse. Ah - Moony!"

"I'd have known it was you if they brought me in here blindfolded," Lupin told him, amused, as he hugged his friend. "Can't you leave your brother alone for two minutes, even in these hallowed halls?"

"Hallowed halls?" Sirius snorted. "Looks like the Wizengamot to me, what's hallowed about _that!_ "

Regulus made a disagreeable sound, folding his arms across his chest, and Lupin shook his head and reached around Sirius to clasp hands with his two companions. "Prongs, Lily – still failing to keep this mutt in line, I see!"

Conversations were going on all around them, as people who hadn't seen each other in a while caught up on the news and others who had never met before took the opportunity to make new acquaintances. Most of them were excitedly speculating on the appeal and its possible outcome, thrashing out opposing viewpoints with surprisingly little contention under the circumstances.

Presently the jury shuffled in and took their places before the judge's chair; a mixed bag of witches and wizards who were not immediately recognisable. Then the judge himself arrived, and at once the babble of voices died down as he stepped magisterially up to his chair and turned to face the crowd. He bore a tall staff carved of black wood and topped with a carven owl, his robes were midnight blue and embroidered in silver with esoteric symbols, his face was lined yet ageless, and his hair and beard alike were white and long enough to sweep the ground. Merlin looked out across Wizardkind and observed them coolly for a moment before taking his seat in a slow sweep of robes. Silence fell at once.

The Recorder stepped forward and addressed the chamber. "Wizarding folk all, this court is called to order. Pray silence for the Judge."

When he spoke, his voice was deep and resonant and could be heard by everyone in the chamber.

"The court of appeal sits to consider the case of Harry James Potter _vs._ the Universe. Mr. Potter claims negligence against the afterlife, and superior rights and responsibilities arising from that negligence. He claims that on the second of May 1998, the date that his death was registered at the department of records, he found himself miraculously alive and on Earth. He claims that he was perfectly reconciled to die at that point, but that the moment was missed and now he deserves to live. It has been decided that we will hear his appeal. Could I please see the term of his life?" The Recorder passed him a scroll and Merlin studied it for a moment before handing it back. "Thank you. If this appeal succeeds, the term of his life will be rewritten to balance any injustice he may have suffered. If not, his life will end forthwith.

"The number of spectators here today is unusually large, due to the degree of interest in this case. Of course, we can seat everyone who wishes to be present, but the front rows are reserved for those with a special interest in Mr. Potter and his affairs.

"Now, let the counsel for the prosecution step forward!"

There was a tiny pause, then a tall wizard of middle years stepped out onto the floor, his head held arrogantly high. In his youth he had been a startlingly handsome young man – "a golden youth" as one lyrical observer of his life had put it – with a touch of puckish mischief in his eyes which even now informed the cynical curve of his smile as he bowed to the judge and then to the court with a hint of a flourish to his gold-trimmed black robes. This was Gellert Grindelwald, he who had spent the greater part of a long life in Nurmengard prison before redeeming himself in one final act of sacrifice.

Merlin inclined his head to him unsmilingly before turning to the other side of the court room. "Let the counsel for the defence step forward!"

Albus Dumbledore stepped out onto the floor, with Severus Snape a few steps behind him, and he too bowed to the judge and court. Like Grindelwald, some of his years had also vanished; there was a touch of red in his hair and beard once more and his robes were a flamboyant purple.

The two wizards took their places before the jury on either side of the floor, and at length Merlin waved his hand.

"The counsel for the prosecution may open."

"Thank you, milord." Grindelwald stepped out onto the patterned marble floor and paused dramatically, only too aware of all the eyes upon him and gazing up and around at them all as though gathering together his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, the case before this noble court rests upon three simple points, the first being that on the evening of the second of May the defendant, Harry Potter, had an appointment with his destiny which he failed to attend and that, upon subsequent attempts to collect him, he did refuse to accompany his conductor in the prescribed manner. Upon that point, we must ask ourselves "Who is responsible?"

"Then the second point – that when challenged by his conductor over this intransigence, Mr. Potter claimed that within those few borrowed hours he had, if you choose to believe it, _fallen in love_ and on the basis of this claimed responsibilities to the other party, arising from this borrowed time, which could not be set aside - "

"My lord!" Dumbledore stepped out onto the floor and turned to face Merlin. "My lord, I object to the term _borrowed_ , which implies that my client has made use of something which does not belong to him. Harry Potter was _given_ those hours and it is his own time because he is the owner of his own life. Therefore those hours cannot now be taken back, and should this court in due course decide against him, you will only have to cross out the second of May and rewrite it as the fifth."

"The counsel for the defence's objection is noted," Merlin rumbled. "The jury will disregard references to _borrowed_ time. The counsel for the prosecution may continue."

Dumbledore bowed to him and to Grindelwald and stepped back. Saluting him a little sarcastically, Grindelwald proceeded.

"Mr. Potter claims to have fallen in love as a result of these - ahem! - _disputed_ hours, to which we ask, "Has he truly _fallen in love_ in such a short space of time, and what weight should we place upon this assertion?" All of which leads us to the third and final point, that Mr. Potter claims to have fallen in love with a young man of his close acquaintance, a youth of decent wizard stock, and, further, that this upstanding and pureblooded young wizard has fallen in love with him in return." Grindelwald paused to draw a breath.

"My lord, why does the counsel for the prosecution place such stress upon Mr. Weasley's blood status?" Dumbledore asked, before he could complete whatever he had been about to say.

"Counsel for the prosecution?" Merlin enquired.

For a moment the two men stared at each other, Dumbledore peering amiably over the top of his spectacles at Grindelwald, whose eyes had narrowed for a brief second.

"So soon to this, Albus?" he said softly.

Dumbledore smiled. "My client doesn't have all eternity to wait, Gellert," he replied equally quietly, before raising his voice enough to be heard throughout the courtroom. "I ask again: Of what relevance is the blood of either of these young wizards? Does my learned opponent merely find something unlikely or improbable in affection between two young men?" The look he tipped to Grindelwald then was one pregnant with meaning. "Or is he, perhaps, suggesting that they are somehow unequal in their status as wizards and that love cannot truly spring from such an ill-matched pairing? My lord, I feel I must demand an explanation of the counsel's position."

"A fair question," Merlin said, folding his hands across his stomach. "The counsel for the prosecution will elaborate upon his comments."

"Gladly, milord." Grindelwald studied Dumbledore for a long moment, before smiling sardonically and turning to his audience. "Wizards and witches all, consider the positions of these two rash young persons. On the one hand, my respected colleague's client, one Harry James Potter - a young man born of two wholly different worlds, his father a wizard of impeccable, unsullied wizard lineage, the heir of Ignotus Peverell no less, but his mother the daughter of Muggles - "

"His mother," Dumbledore interrupted rather sharply, "is also a witch, and moreover one of the brightest witches I have ever had the honour to teach - but no doubt the omission of that small detail was just a slip of the tongue, my dear fellow! I feel sure that any moment now you will call Harry's parents as witnesses, given that they are sitting not a dozen feet from you."

"Indeed," Grindelwald said silkily, "I am sure we all look forward to hearing their opinion of their son's complicated _amours_."

James was already on his feet. "The only opinion I've got to offer _you_ , you megalomaniacal niffler's backside, is that you're talking a complete load of - "

Merlin cleared his throat meaningfully.

" - hornswoggle!" James finished indignantly. He was pulled back into his seat by his wife and best friend.

"Thank you, James," Dumbledore said, giving him a mildly repressive look.

"And what of Miss Lily Evans?" Grindelwald continued, offering her a glittering smile.

The look Lily gave him as she stood up boded no good for him. "That's _Mrs. Potter_ to you, sir," she said coolly, "and all I have to say to you is that if you doubt my credentials as a witch, I'll see you around the back of the courtroom later and we'll see if you're still smiling then!" And she drew her wand out of her sleeve and slapped it against her palm meaningfully.

"Dear me, how distressingly irregular!" Dumbledore commented over the audience's rumble of amusement, although more than one observer had cause to notice the sly wink he bestowed upon Lily as she resumed her seat. "Perhaps my respected colleague would do better to expound his own theories a little further, under the - ah - somewhat hostile circumstances."

A touch ruffled, Grindelwald stepped away from Harry's parents and turned his attention back to the rest of the court. "Very well. There you have the defendant's parentage - and this court may draw what conclusions it pleases from _that_ \- so now let us look at this young man's upbringing. Do we find him raised in a wizard household, surrounded by wizard customs, wizard heritage, wizard life …? No, we do not! Unlike his friend young Weasley, that young man of old and true pureblooded heritage brought up amid all the advantages of a magical household, who raised Mr. Potter? In whose house did he spend his earliest and most formative years? The house of his forefathers, the line of the noble Ignotus Peverell? No, ladies and gentlemen, he did not! Mr. Potter was raised by his mother's relatives, Muggles to the very core of them, and he did not even know of his wizard blood until the day he received his letter from Hogwarts!"

Uproar. It seemed that everyone had an opinion on this shocking revelation and wanted to express it at once. Grindelwald openly enjoyed the sensation he had caused, and Dumbledore, observing the mayhem, raised his brows and cast a look at Snape, who was still standing a few feet away and who smiled a wintry little smile in return.

Eventually, however, the courtroom settled once more and Dumbledore was quick to step forward, letting out a wry little chuckle that caught the attention even of a pair of individuals in one of the upper rows who had resorted to fisticuffs and curses to settle their dispute.

"Dear me, Gellert, yes, yes, very good … You know, the more I listen to your impressive arguments, the more convinced I become that I really _am_ the barmy old coot Miss Skeeter liked to stigmatise me as!"

"Surely not!" Grindelwald retorted, smiling, but eyeing him suspiciously nevertheless.

"It must be something in the clarity of your voice, you have always enunciated so beautifully - "

"And you have always been at your most treacherous when you resort to flattery, Albus. Enough already! You have a point to make?"

"Not at all!" Dumbledore said, with an apologetic smile. "I was merely hoping that you might clarify your argument a little. You see, my mental faculties have inevitably diminished a little with age - " Snape was not the only one to snort derisively at this, "and I cannot for the life of me - dear me, would that be the correct term to use? Ah well! - I cannot for the life of me determine what Mr. Potter's Hogwarts letter has to do with his relationship with Mr. Weasley. But no doubt you will explain."

"Willingly!" Grindelwald shot him another suspicious look, but quickly turned back to his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us consider Mr. Potter's unfortunate upbringing. Orphaned in early childhood, raised by a Muggle aunt and uncle who did not want him, cut off from the society of others like him, saturated, I dare say, in the pernicious and deleterious effects of so-called Muggle _culture_ \- "

"Oh, what a load of old tommyrot!" Remus Lupin exclaimed loudly, before Grindelwald could complete this statement. "Pernicious and deleterious? If it's so bloody harmful, why have wizards been happy to quote Shakespeare and adapt Muggle chamber music for their own purposes, for the past five hundred years?"

"Those seated in the witness stands will kindly wait to be called before expressing their opinions before the court," the Recorder stated sharply, in an attempt to bring things back to order.

"My friend Remus Lupin raises a valid point, though," Dumbledore said. "We have not been unwilling to poach good ideas from our Muggle cousins in times past."

"And there lies the rub! _Good ideas_ , Albus, those few worthwhile scraps of salvage from the morass of worthless rubbish Muggles waste their lives pursuing!"

"Oh come now, Gellert, you are fixated on the past! Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley are modern wizards!"

"Indeed!" Grindelwald almost shouted the word triumphantly to his vast audience. "Well, for your information, Albus, I've been watching these Muggles! And what manner of Muggle _culture_ has that modern young halfblood, Harry Potter, been raised in? What do Muggles consider 'culture' in this day and age? Listen - to the voice of Muggles in the late twentieth century!" He swept his wand dramatically through air that was violently ripped apart by what sounded like a dozen chainsaws accompanied by a curiously rhythmic growling.

A good portion of the audience shrieked in protest and covered their ears, but in the front row Sirius Black nodded his head in time to the music, a grin almost splitting his face

"Hey, it's Judas Priest!" he approved, raising his voice to reach his nearest neighbours.

Merlin shot a pained look at Grindelwald, who took the hint and quickly cancelled the sound again with a flick of his wand. He looked across at Dumbledore triumphantly, who inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Perhaps so, my old friend, perhaps so. Not quite to _our_ taste, but ever have the fads of the current generation disturbed the peace of their elders. All the same ..." He looked around and Snape, with an expression of sour amusement, held up a wizard wireless. "Thank you, Severus! All the same, Gellert, let us sample and compare the voice held to represent the finest and most popular of contemporary wizard music ..."

He tapped the wireless and a tinkling little jingle of music issued from it in accompaniment to the sweet syrupy voice of Celestina Warbeck, warbling about love and roses and happy dancing toadstools. Grindelwald's expression went from shock to nauseated disgust as he registered it. Dumbledore regarded him over the top of his spectacles for several amused moments before kindly switching it off again.

"I understood every word," Grindelwald admitted, dismayed. "What I do not understand is _why_."

"Between the two of us, nor do I," Dumbledore agreed, "but taste and discernment do not necessarily mark out the wizard from his Muggle counterpart, as I think we have amply demonstrated. I can, however, name half a dozen respected wizard musicians who were, in fact, squibs or as near to squibs as made no difference, and, furthermore, two highly respected wizard novelists. Add to that the numerous luminaries and thinkers of our society who were born to Muggle or Muggleborn parents, and I think we may safely dispose of that argument, wouldn't you agree?"

"On the contrary," Grindelwald retorted, "we are discussing upbringing, specifically the unwizardly upbringing of Mr. Potter, and of how this pertains to his so-called relationship with young Mr. Weasley, a child of true wizard society."

"Then we are talking of love, are we not, and whether such a noble emotion can overcome such challenges as any diverse couple might face?"

"Can you deny the terrible strains imposed upon a couple by great differences in their backgrounds and expectations? The struggles between them, for one to adapt to the other, let alone to find some middle path between them that will permit them to live in harmony in each other's society?"

"No, I do not deny it," Dumbledore said quietly. For a painful second their eyes met, and sadness and regret were mirrored in each other's faces. Then: "No," Dumbledore said more firmly, "but we should all of us be mindful of that ancient saying, that nothing worth having is obtained without struggle. And in that struggle, that determination to join forces and forge something that is greater in its wholeness than in its individual pieces, lies the greatest strength of love between two people. Yes, some will fail - but time and again men and women of the human race have overcome their differences to forge stronger partnerships with each other, and in that process the very best of Muggle society has been joined to our own wizard society and thus enriched it."

"You speak of love," Grindelwald said, when the rumble of approval throughout the courtroom had subsided, "but what is love that it should grant an exception to Universal Law? Those who love are more often separated by death than not; they do not demand exceptions be made, and none would be granted to them if they did!"

"But none of them have fallen in love as the result of an error made by those responsible for maintaining the natural order of life and death," Dumbledore pointed out.

"An _error?_ " Grindelwald's brows rose and his wide eyes mocked Dumbledore.

"An error of judgement on my part, for which I humbly beg this court's forgiveness and take full responsibility," Dumbledore admitted, unruffled.

"An error, not a deliberate act?" Grindelwald persisted, a hint of a wicked smile playing about his mouth. "Oh Albus, I marvel at you – so untruthful!"

"Perhaps it was so. You see, Gellert, I too am prey to that unpredictable emotion _love_. Loving Harry as I do, how could I _not_ offer him another chance at life when the opportunity arose?"

For a long moment they stared at each other, under the fascinated eyes of every person in the courtroom. Then Grindelwald took a few steps away, shaking his head – only to turn back sharply and point an accusing finger at Dumbledore.

"You're a sentimental fool, Albus, but you won't distract me that way from the matter at hand! We're not arguing about how this ridiculous situation occurred – "

"But you did pose the question of who is responsible," Dumbledore pointed out, folding his hands and adopting a mildly whimsical air.

"The question at hand is – does this love you claim this ill-assorted pair feel for each other outweigh the Law that demands Mr. Potter's instant demise?" Grindelwald threw up his hands. "Two boys, barely out of childhood! How can we even know that it is mature, adult love these two rash young people feel, and not the hormonal lusts of youth?"

Snape quietly produced the flask of thoughts taken from Ron Weasley and placed it in Dumbledore's hand; and Dumbledore held it up for all to see, the mist of thoughts swirling gently within. The light pouring in through the glass ceiling of the courtroom far above caught in the receptacle and cast odd patterns through it onto the marble floor.

"Perhaps we can indeed know," he said, tilting and turning the vial between long fingers. "Are you - forgive me, is this court - ready to look into the mind of Mr. Ronald Weasley?"

The Forewitch of the jury was whispering urgently to the Recorder, who blinked and stepped forward to relay the message.

"My lord, the jury members feel there is a simpler solution - why should not these two young people bear witness on their own behalf before this court?"

Merlin peered down at them. "Do the counsels for the prosecution and defence have any objection?"

"Not in the slightest," Dumbledore said at once, smiling.

Grindelwald shrugged. "I have no objection."

Merlin stood up and raised his staff. "Then let it be so!"

~~~

In neat, orderly fashion the entire court stepped out of the courtroom and onto the broad central staircase that in another time and place led down into the entrance hall of Hogwarts School; and in some equally neat fashion a wave of Merlin's staff brought another group of people into that space at the foot of the stairs where they might be easily observed by all.

"There is no reason to deny ourselves the dimension of time," he commented. "It will not disturb them."

"The jury feels it would help to establish a true picture of the conditions, my lord," the Forewitch put in.

"Very well," Merlin acknowledged.

Unaware of the apparent change of location or of the celestial court's attention upon them, the occupations of the Gryffindor common room continued performing the ritual they hoped would save Harry's life.

For a moment the court observed this in fascinated silence. Then:

"An Aztec cleansing ritual?" Grindelwald said, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "Well, that will _never_ work."

"No - Inca, I think," Dumbledore replied. "The eagle claw is definitive, and if they have isolated the curse correctly I believe – "

Merlin cleared his throat sternly.

"Ah yes … forgive me, my lord." Dumbledore raised his voice a little. "The defence calls Harry James Potter!"

A figure stepped hesitantly out of the shadows and walked to the foot of the staircase. Harry was dressed in the clothes he had worn to his final confrontation with Voldemort; his jeans and sweater were stained with soot, and his glasses were smudged, days worth of stubble darkened his chin and his uncut hair was even more wildly untidy than usual. He looked at them all a little nervously, then saw Dumbledore and smiled more confidently.

"Hello Harry," Dumbledore said in an encouraging tone.

"Hello Professor." Then Harry caught sight of his parents, Sirius, Lupin and his other friends standing a few steps behind and to one side. For a moment his face lit up – then, as he realised what was happening, that happiness subsided into wariness. He looked at Dumbledore. "What do you think of the ritual, Sir?"

"It would seem to be proceeding well," Dumbledore told him.

Grindelwald made an impatient sound in his throat, drawing their attention. "Harry Potter, you are on the witness stand, under oath - do you understand?"

Harry blinked. "Yes, Herr Grindelwald."

Grindelwald raised a brow. "You know me?"

Harry snorted. "Of course! I've seen pictures of you in books."

"Indeed! Well … you seem like a personable young man, clever, perhaps even wily to judge by your history." He gave Harry a hard look. "Did you use those wiles to enamour this young man we are told about?"

"I love him," Harry asserted without hesitation, although a trace of colour appeared in his cheeks.

"Answer the question!" Grindelwald said sharply.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, despite the gravity of the situation. "Would you repeat it then, sir - it had 'enamoured' in it."

"Never mind the exact question - did you or did you not set out to deliberately ensnare a decent, pureblooded young wizard?"

Harry flushed more visibly this time. "No - we loved each other before we even knew it was happening. There was nothing deliberate about it."

"You claim you love him - "

"I do love him!"

"Can you prove it?" Grindelwald smirked at the look of consternation on Harry's face. But Harry wasn't beaten yet.

"Give me time," he said defiantly. "Eight or nine decades would be nice."

"You have a lot of cheek, boy! You can't prove it, can you?"

"That's like asking me to prove I'm hungry when you won't let me eat," Harry protested.

"Would you die for him?" Grindelwald shot back.

"Of course I would!" There was a moment of ringing silence as Harry realised the trap he was being lured into, and the look Grindelwald gave Dumbledore was full of triumph. "But I'd rather live!" Harry added quickly.

"Tcha! Fine words butter no parsnips, as your foolish Muggle saying goes!" Grindelwald turned away. "Conductor Snape, is the other young man available?"

Snape's expression spoke volumes of his feelings at being treated like a porter, and his tone was predictably long-suffering when he replied. "Of course he is. He's asleep."

"Hah! Asleep!" Grindelwald crowed.

"I put him to sleep so you could call him," Snape said, annoyed.

"Then I do call him!"

There was a tiny pause, then Ron stepped out of the shadows too. Like Harry, he was scruffy and still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the Battle of Hogwarts, but unlike Harry he was rather embarrassed about it and kept making nervous attempts to brush the smuts and dust from his clothes.

Merlin surveyed him coolly. "You are before the high court in the case of Harry Potter. You have been called as a witness. You will tell the truth."

"Okay," Ron said nervously.

"Counsel for the Prosecution?"

Grindelwald took charge at once. "Young man, do you know this Harry Potter?"

In spite of his anxiety, Ron couldn't suppress a tiny snort. "Of course! We've been best mates for seven years."

"Then what makes you suddenly think you love him?"

"I don't _suddenly_ think it - I reckon I've always loved him."

"You 'reckon'?" Grindelwald made a face. "Nonsense! Milord, this is but the juvenile attachment of two boys, a mere fancy, nothing more - "

"My lord," Dumbledore interrupted sternly, "I object to the use of the word 'nonsense' - "

"It's all right, Professor," Ron said. "I don't reckon there's much making sense of it anyway. That's not what love's about, right?"

"Can you prove that you love him?" Grindelwald put in, before Dumbledore could respond to this.

Ron looked sceptical. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Oh … perhaps by dying for him?" Grindelwald studied him through hooded eyes.

"Yeah, I'd do that," Ron said at once.

"Indeed? Would you take his place in the balance sheet?"

"Of course!"

"What?" Harry gave his friend a horrified look. "No, he wouldn't!"

"Would you indeed?" Grindelwald said, ignoring Harry.

Harry turned in protest to Merlin. "No, my lord!"

"Stand aside!" Grindelwald told him harshly.

"You've got no right to ask him that!" Harry shouted.

"How dare you address me that way, you young - "

"Harry!" Dumbledore said sharply. "Harry, you _must_ obey this court!"

"What?! Of all the dirty tricks!"

"This is contempt of court!" Grindelwald raised his voice. "I'll have you committed!"

"Yeah, right - I'd like to see you try it!" Harry turned to Ron, grabbing his arm. "Don't answer any more of their questions, Ron!"

"Do you realise that you've just forfeited any chance of winning your case?" Grindelwald demanded.

"Fine!" Harry snapped, furious. "You don't get Ron as well, though!"

Grindelwald stepped back, a disturbing smile crossing his face. "Well, well … milord, members of the jury, it would seem that our young defendant really _does_ love his friend." He smirked at Dumbledore. "Your witness!"

"Ronald," Dumbledore said, gazing down at him with great intensity. "Ron, you have known me well. Do you trust me?"

"Of course, sir," Ron said at once, a little surprised.

"It is absolutely necessary that you take Harry's place in the other world."

Harry was aghast. "Have you gone nuts, sir?"

Dumbledore ignored this, his eyes fixed on Ron's face. "If you really love him, Ron, step onto this staircase and come with us."

"You've got to be off your rocker," Harry protested, looking between the two of them wildly.

"It's the only way to prove you love Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I love him." Ron took a resolute step forward.

"No, you can't go!" Harry grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back.

"My lord, I ask the court to restrain Mr. Potter!"

"Granted," Merlin said, raising his staff once more, and Harry was caught in a full body-bind spell.

"Ron!" Dumbledore urged, and Ron very gently detached Harry's fingers from his shirt sleeve.

Grindelwald belatedly seemed to realise what Dumbledore was about. "Have a care, Albus!" he warned. "In all the universe, nothing is stronger than the law!"

Ron touched Harry's face for a moment, then resolutely stepped onto the staircase, turning to look at his friend. "Goodbye, mate."

He had to swallow hard a few times as the stairs began to move, gently carrying him and the entire court back upwards and away from Hogwarts …

And then, just as quickly as they had begun to move, the stairs halted again. The members of the court exchanged questioning glances with each other, and Dumbledore smiled very softly.

"Yes, Gellert - nothing in the universe is stronger than the law, but nothing on Earth is stronger than love."

Ron let out a shuddering breath of relief and plunged back down the stairs before anyone could stop him. Released from the body-bind, Harry reached out for him and they fell into a fierce embrace, oblivious to their audience.

"I deduce that the counsels have completed their arguments," Merlin observed dryly. "Jury, please consider your verdict."

"Case for the defendant, my lord," the Forewitch said, with only the briefest of pauses to consult her colleagues.

"Very well. The appeal is granted. There now remains the matter of the new date on Mr. Potter's file." Merlin accepted a roll of parchment from the Recorder and wrote upon it with a magnificent eagle-feather quill. "Will both counsels approve it?"

Dumbledore peered at the parchment over the top of his spectacles. "Very generous, if I may say so, my lord."

"Too generous," Grindelwald sniffed, and Dumbledore chuckled a little at his petulance, making him bridle. "Oh, very well then!"

The Recorder seemed to feel that she should have been consulted, for her expression was almost as sour as Snape's as she said, "My lord, I hope this won't establish a precedent!"

"I object!" Grindelwald and Dumbledore said in unison, and Dumbledore chuckled again.

"After you, my dear fellow!"

"No, after you, Albus, I insist!"

"You mean, the rights of the common man - "

" _Un_ common man," Grindelwald corrected him.

"Precisely so! The rights of the uncommon man must always be respected."

"Indeed. Do you realise, Albus, that this may be the first time we've agreed on a principle in - how many years is it now?"

"Don't be too downhearted, old friend, we have eternity before us to find other points to disagree upon …"

~~~

 

As the courtroom faded away into distant mists, one final voice came to Harry, the voice that had set this whole business in motion:

"Potter! _Potter!_ Don't leave without this, you fool – "

Harry wondered vaguely what Snape was referring to but at the last minute, before everything faded away entirely, there was a soft rush of air past his face and he heard a hollow glass-like clink somewhere nearby.

He slipped away, still wondering what it could be.

~~~

It was the sunlight that awoke him, a stream of golden warmth that picked its way delicately through gaps in the curtains shielding his bed to pool gloriously on the scarlet bedspread covering him.

Harry blinked into the light languidly. His whole body felt heavy and weak, and yet … he felt well again, better than he had felt in days. He felt himself once more. With an effort he turned his head a little until his eyes found that gap in the curtains that the sun had also discovered. Through it he could just see a familiar figure standing before one of the long deep-set windows, and his heart seemed to jump a little in his chest.

It was Ron; clean-shaven, dressed in fresh clothes, his arms folded across his chest as he stared out over the school grounds pensively. Harry tried to say something then, tried to make a signal that he was awake. He couldn't hear himself make a sound and none of his muscles seemed willing to move upon his command, but it was as if Ron knew anyway; his head turned sharply and anxious blue eyes fixed on Harry's face.

And he smiled, a smile that lit up his face and demanded an instant response from Harry in return.

Harry found that there were a few small muscles that he could move after all.

Ron pulled the bed curtains open and sat down on the edge of Harry's bed.

"How are you feeling, mate?"

With a supreme effort of will, Harry made his hand move and stretch out towards Ron, who at once clasped it in both of his. He found his voice as well, not much more than a whisper.

"We won!"

If Ron was thinking of the heart-stopping terror of the hour spent downstairs in the common room the night before, of the long minutes and rising sense of panic when it seemed as though Harry would give up the fight and slip away from them after all, he didn't allow it to show in his face. Instead he gave Harry his most infectious grin.

"Yeah, didn't we though!"

Harry grinned back weakly. For a moment his eyes seemed inclined to drift shut again, but when Ron would have gently tucked his hand beneath the covers, he opened them again.

"Ron … they were all there. Dumbledore … Sirius … my mum and dad. Even Fred."

Ron's smile faltered for a second. "Yeah?"

Harry didn't seem to hear the hesitation in his voice. "Yeah. And then you came … and you made everything right." He smiled at Ron. "You were brilliant."

"Well, of course I was! Did you think I wouldn't be?"

Harry let out a tiny breath of a laugh. "I love you."

"I love you too, mate." He watched Harry's face for a few moments but although Harry didn't seem inclined to say anything else, he didn't close his eyes again either and lay there gazing at Ron contentedly. "How about you rest a bit more, then it'll be lunchtime and I'll get you a bit of something to eat?"

"Don't go."

Ron squeezed his hand. "I'm not going anywhere, ever. I promise."

Harry smiled with relief and his eyes fluttered closed again.

After a few minutes, Ron very carefully tucked his hand under the covers and stood up, intending to fetch a chair and sit by Harry's side. As he moved, however, something caught his eye on the dresser beside Harry's bed, something he was sure hadn't been there the night before.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

It was a bulbous glass flask filled with some misty substance that looked strangely familiar. Like the flask of Snape's thoughts Harry had brought away from the Shrieking Shack during the battle … maybe …


End file.
